


A Reason To Keep Living

by Stories_can_make_us_fly



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Barnes Family, Battle of New York (Marvel), Bucky's mom is still alive, Captain America: The Winter Soldier, M/M, Mentions of Bucky's sisters, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Sarah Rogers - Freeform, Steve Rogers and the 21st Century, Tags Are Hard, depressed and lonely Steve
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-16
Updated: 2018-06-28
Packaged: 2018-11-14 21:52:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 25,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11216988
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stories_can_make_us_fly/pseuds/Stories_can_make_us_fly
Summary: When Steve came out of the ice, Winifred Barnes was still alive.While Steve struggled to cope with his grief and the changes in the world, she was there to help him as best as she could.Because she owed it to her son to help the man he had loved.





	1. Prologue: Bucky's Mom

**Author's Note:**

> Hey,  
> thank you for clicking and, hopefully, reading!  
> I had the idea for this story after weeks of obsessing over Stucky and reading every bit of fanfiction I could get my hands on.  
> And then I had to write my own. :)  
> I know, of course, that it is highly unlikely that Winifred is still alive, but in a world of superheros and enhanced people, why not a over 100 years old woman who is still mourning the death of her son?  
> I imagine that Winifred was born in 1900 and had Bucky at sixteen, so that she is 111 when Steve comes back.
> 
> English is not my first language, so feel free to tell me about any mistakes and I will correct them.

**Prologue: Bucky's Mom**

Winifred Barnes was old. Very old. She had past her hundredth birthday several years ago.

And yet, she kept on living.

She had outlived her husband and all of her children. Margret had died in 1955 in a horrific car crash. George, unable to move on from losing a second child, had followed her a few years later. Heart attack. Georgiana had left her nearly ten years ago, dying a gruesome death in some hospital, losing her battle to cancer after years of fighting. And lastly, Rebecca, just a year ago. She had died peacefully in her bed, surrounded by her family and loved ones.

And of course Bucky. Her beautiful boy! He had been the first to go. Dying far away from her in a foreign country, fighting in a war that no one had wanted, but that every one had been willing to fight. To keep all of them save. To make the world a better place. She had been so proud of him. Still was. Even when she had been terrified for him. Even when she had lain awake at night, worrying and dreading the next day when some faceless uniform could come to her door and inform her of her baby's death. Like so many other mothers. Instead she had gotten a letter. From Steve. Blotched and tear-stained and barely readable, telling her how sorry he was, how Bucky had died a hero and how he was the best man Steve had ever known and how much he missed him. Winifred remembered it like it was yesterday. For hours she had sat in the kitchen, unable to move, the letter clutched in her hands. When George had come home and wrestled the letter from her, he had burst into tears. In thirty years of marriage she had never seen her husband cry. She had wanted to comfort him, hold him in her arms, but she couldn't. She had sat at the table, starring into the distance while George had fallen apart beside her. Two days later, while cleaning the living room, she had stumbled upon a picture of Bucky as a ten-year old boy. Smiling and laughing into the camera without a care in the world. That had been the moment where she had broken down. Screaming and crying she had fallen to the floor, tearing at her hair and scratching at her face. The unbearable pain of losing her precious baby boy consuming her body and soul. George had come running into the room. He hadn't said anything, just took her into his arms and let her scream for as long as she had needed it.

Seventy years later she still wanted to scream. Sometimes she just wanted to scream until her last breath left her body. They said time healed all wounds. Well, certainly not for Winifred Barnes. Losing Bucky had just been the start of a long life full of loss and heart-break. Margret, George, Georgiana, Rebecca. That she had outlived George was painful, but something to expect. But no parent should bury their children. Let alone all four of them. She must have done something truly horrible in a past life to be punished like this. She was nearly hundred-eleven years old. Why did her body refuse her the last rest she so desperately craved? The chance to be with her family again? But here she was, sitting in a nursing home on the outskirts of New York, old and frail but still with all her wits about her and more or less independent. It was a nice home, too. Expansive, surrounded by trees and green hills. One of her grandchildren paid for it. She wasn't entirely sure which one, but it didn't matter really. She barely saw them anyway. They visited a couple of times over the year, sent her cards on her birthday and for Christmas. Otherwise she spent her days sitting in her armchair, looking out the window, remembering days gone by and waiting. Sometimes she played games with the other residents, even liked to talk to some of them. But they hadn't much to talk about. Winifred was older than all of them, had done different things in her youth, had raised her family in another time. They didn't have shared life experience. Occasionally, she would watch TV, but she didn't get much out of it. She had stopped trying to understand this new strange world full of wonders and superheros a long time ago. Living this long had made her cynical and a little bitter. What had the world to offer her? Nothing but heart-break and loss.

So, one day, when she came down the stairs into the common room and the TV in the corner flashed the news of Steve Rogers alias Captain America being found in the ice after seventy years, miraculously alive, Winifred scoffed. What nonsense! Steve had died, only a few months after her Bucky and hadn't she already been broken by her grief for her baby boy, she would have mourned his death nearly as much. At least they were together now, that had been her thought when she had heard about Steve's fate. They had always been together and now even in death. And so she didn't believe for one second that Steve had come back and no one could convince her otherwise.

 


	2. Chapter 1: 21st Century

**Chapter 1: 21st Century**

 

Steve sat in the room Shield had provided him. Obviously, they had made an effort to make it look like the forties, just like they had with the room he had woken up in. And like with the old room they had failed. Steve could tell immediately that it was fake. For starters, the white paint on the wall. It was too perfect, too white. Every room he had been in back then had been yellowed by the people who lived in it, by the smoke and grease from the city. It never would have been that kind of white. The furniture was fitting, he would give them that: bed, stool, table, rickety armchair. Not too much, not too fancy. Although, if Steve wanted to be a nit-picker – which he did very much at the moment – he would say that it was too well preserved. Like it was just bought from the store. And really, who could afford to buy new furniture back in the thirties? Rich people, that was who. But people like him? People who didn't know how to buy food the next day, to pay the rent the next month? Certainly not. They had sat on stools that had been repaired four times over and would be a fifth time if need be. Armchairs and sofas had been patched up so many times that no one could tell what the original color had been. And if they looked to run down … well, there was always some kind of blanket or quilt you could throw over it.

Of course, he knew they only had gone through so much effort to make him comfortable. Make him feel more at home. And he appreciated it. Sitting in a room full of modern and alien things would have made him feel more lost and alone than he already did now. Another part of him resented them. Resented all of it. Hated it really. He had crashed that plane into the ice to die. Not to wake up seventy years later in a future that felt more like a freak show. He had wanted to die. To be rid of all the pain, the killing, the loss and heart-break. To be with the one person he … No! He was not going there. Not now, maybe not ever. Steve knew that he had to keep it together. Otherwise he wouldn't be able to make it in this strange new world. What was it Fury had said? They still needed men like him. Soldiers. Well, that was the one thing he could be. A soldier. He had spent the last three years fighting, he could and would continue to do so. And he would start with getting acquainted with the 21st century. Treat it like a battle. Make a plan, develop a strategy and strike when the enemy least expected it. Or something like that. Steve wasn't entirely sure what he was doing (had he ever been?), but what else could he do? He had to look forward. Because looking back … hurt too much.

 

Steve should have known better. His grand plan of getting to know the future and burying his past, well, let's just say it didn't work out. Like not at all. He was so out of his depth that he was amazed he even made it down the stairs every morning. (After spending ten minutes in the elevator trying to figure out which of the many buttons would bring him down to the ground floor, he decided the stairs were the better option.) Even simple things like walking through the streets were a nightmare. He had always liked that, back in his days, just walking through the streets, enjoying the company of the people around him, talking to his neighbors and laughing over some story Bucky told him. (A painful ache spread through his body when he thought of Bucky. Just thinking his name sent him into a downward spiral. Last night he had woken up from a dream filled with Bucky. Bucky falling, laughing, falling, sleeping beside him, falling, sitting in their shitty apartment at the table and falling, falling, falling. Steve had cried for hours, face pressed into his pillow to muffle his sobs.) Now, people rushed past him, everyone was in a hurry and didn't spare a glance to the people right next to them. An endless queue of cars jammed the streets, making it a dangerous adventure to even cross them. And flashy billboards battled for the attention of the pedestrians at every corner. So, yeah, walking down the street took effort. A lot. But Steve tried. He really tried. And that had to count for something, right? No one had said it was going to be easy. Steve was determined to make it through, regardless how hard it was gonna be. He would make it. All on his own. (Who was there to help him anyway?)

When Fury asked him a week later: “How are you settling in, Captain?”, Steve answered: “Getting there. Been reading a lot these last couple of days. Trying to catch up.”

Fury nodded. “I can image it's all still a little overwhelming for you.”

Steve was proud of himself that he didn't laugh in the director's face. That was an understatement!

“You could say that, sir,” he said instead.

“We would be happy to help you adjust, Captain,” Fury continued. “I know, you said you don't need it, but I can assign a couple of agents to you who would be at your disposal whenever you need them. At the top of my head, there are at least ten who would jump at the opportunity to work with Captain America. Agent Coulson already said he would be very happy to take this job.”

Steve considered it for a moment. Imagined what it would be like to talk to someone about … well, everything. What had changed, what he missed, what frightened him, what he didn't understand. But he couldn't. Couldn't picture himself talking to some stranger who didn't know what he had been through. Not really, anyway. Yes, people knew about Captain America and what he did during the war. He had seen the books, the comics, the clothing, everything. He found it a little disturbing, to be honest. Why were people so obviously obsessed with Captain America? The war was long over. The need for his existence had dissolved with the end of the war and the victory over the Germans. There was no reason why people should still have need for a war hero. But for some reason Steve couldn't understand for the life of him, they did. Worshiped him. Or to be more precise the idea of him. What they thought Captain America stood for. But when it came to Steve Rogers, they had no idea. No one remembered Steve Rogers, the kid from Brooklyn. (To be fair, even back then the people had had no interest in Steve, only in Captain America.) But Steve Rogers was the one who had to learn to live in the 21st century, not Captain America. Captain America was the same he had always been: patriotic, loyal and good, fighting for his country, an icon, something the people could look up to. And Steve Rogers? Who was Steve Rogers now? That was what he needed to figure out. And he couldn't do that with an agent by his side who just saw Captain America and didn't know anything about Steve Rogers.

 

“Thank you, sir. But I can get by on my own.”

In the back of his mind Bucky's voice whispered: _“The thing is, you don't have to.”_ Oh god, how he wished that were true! But this time it wasn't. Because Bucky wasn't here to pick up the pieces like he had been when Steve's mother had died. When Steve had gotten into another fight. When he had been sick. Bucky had been there, even when he had nothing, he had Bucky. But not anymore. Now, for the first time in his life, he was completely on his own. And wasn't that the most terrifying thing in this whole goddamn situation? It took all his strength not to burst into tears right here in Fury's office.

“I better get going, sir. I have taken up enough of your time and there is this coffee place someone said I should try.”

“Enjoy the rest of your day, Captain. I will talk to you soon.”

They shook hands and Steve left.

 

Soon enough Steve developed a routine: He got up at six o'clock and went running for an hour. After a quick shower he grabbed breakfast at the diner on the corner where he read the newspaper. Step by step he became up to date with today's politics. (One thing to cross of his list – leaving only seventy years of history and pop culture to catch up with.) After that he went to the local library, spending hours over the books and reading about the cold war (he wasn't surprised, really, even in the war there had been tension with Russia and without a common enemy, Steve found it hardly surprising that the two countries turned against each other), the assassination of President Kennedy (he looked like a nice guy and was apparently still loved to this day), the first moon landing (Steve had a hard time believing that one; sure, today, why not? There were so many miraculously things in this century, he could easily imagine people going out into space, but in the sixties? Not very likely, he couldn't bring himself to believe that. Even with all the unbelievable things he had seen in the war and the fight against Hydra.). After a couple hours of reading he ate lunch and spent the rest of the day in the gym. He needed the physical training as compensation to the overwhelming amount of information he gathered during the morning. He figured it was best to stay away from technology for now. Sure, he read about it and that was confusing enough. Actually trying all that new stuff would be too much for his brain. And of course, he was still feeling the loss of his friends. For everyone else it might have been seventy years ago, for Steve it was only a few weeks since he had last seen them. (He deliberately didn't think about Bucky. He couldn't. Only at night when memories haunted him and dreams became to much, he let himself be consumed by his grief.)

So days turned into weeks, weeks into months and Steve became more and more accustomed to his new life. It wasn't home and he missed his friends (he missed Bucky! God, he missed him so much!), but he got used to it. As one did when there was no other choice.

 


	3. Chapter 2: Dreaming

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading and/or leaving Kudos!  
> And a special thank you to Terrenis and Song for your comments! :) :)
> 
> I hope you all enjoy the new chapter. Let me know what you think! :)

**Chapter 2: Dreaming**

_Steve went up the old wooden stairs. The sun was setting, painting everything in a golden light. He felt tired, every step was a drag. The breath rattled in his asthmatic lungs, leaving him breathless. He wanted nothing more than to fall into his bed and sleep. After what felt like ages he reached the door to their apartment. Somehow he wasn't surprised that it was wide open. In fact, there wasn't even a door. He entered, the key still in his hand, and found himself standing in the middle of a clearing. The sun was high in the sky and birds were chirping in the trees. Everything was peaceful and quiet. Steve went on, feeling the grass under his feet – his shoes had disappeared, he noted. As he went further onto the clearing he saw a figure sitting in the distance, leaning back on his hands and bathing in the warm summer sun. As Steve approached, the figure turned around and waved._

“ _Come on, Stevie. How much longer do you need? Get your skinny ass over here.”_

_Bucky! Bucky was here! Steve started running. He skidded to a halt in front of his friend._

_Out of breath, he had to prop himself up on his knees._

“ _Buck … what are you doing here?” he gasped._

“ _What does it look like, punk? I'm enjoying the sun while waiting for your sorry ass to get here.”_

_Steve stared at him while Bucky leaned back again and turned his head into the sun, his eyes closed. He looked good. Carefree, happy, like he had before … before what? Something terrible had happened or was going to happen, Steve was sure of it. But for the life of him he couldn't remember what. And did it really matter? They were here, together. That's what counted, right? And yet …_

“ _You done playing gold fish?” Bucky asked him after a while._

“ _What?”_

“ _Staring with your mouth hanging open. Like a goldfish.”_

_Bucky opened his eyes. His beautiful blue eyes. He looked Steve up and down and whistled._

“ _Wow, someone's been working out, huh?”_

“ _I … what?” Steve looked down at himself, confused. What was Bucky talking about? He was his usual skinny self as he always had been … Or not. Suddenly, he was tall and muscled and strong. How did this happen?_

“ _Really, Steve. Sit down already,” Bucky interrupted his thoughts. “You're making me all jittery, towering over me with this new body of yours.”_

_Steve obeyed, still marveling at the sudden change._

_They sat silently together for a while, enjoying the silence and each others company._

_After a while Steve turned to look at Bucky. A sudden ache in his chest compelled him to take everything of Bucky in as long as he had the chance. It didn't help. The feeling got worse._

“ _I miss you.”_

_Bucky turned around to him. With a sad smile he said: “I miss you, too.”_

_He took Steve's hand and pressed a soft kiss to his knuckles. Steve wanted to cry._

“ _It's hard, Buck. So hard without you.”_

“ _I know, baby. I'm sorry.” Bucky took his face into his hands and placed a soft kiss onto his lips._

“ _We will be together again, I promise,” he whispered and leaned their foreheads together. Steve could stay like that forever._

_After a while clouds appeared at the blue sky and started blocking the sunlight._

“ _I'm cold, Stevie,” Bucky whispered. “I want to come home.”_

_Steve pulled him into his arms, now the one to comfort his lover. “I know.”_

_He felt Bucky starting to shake. “It's so cold. And it hurts. They keep hurting me, Stevie.”_

_Hydra. Steve remembered. Hydra had taken Bucky (or would take him) and Steve had gone and saved him._

“ _You're safe now. They can't hurt you anymore,” Steve murmured into Bucky's hair and softly rocked him in his arms when Bucky wouldn't stop shaking._

“ _I don't remember. I don't remember anything,” Bucky continued, his voice hurt and small._

_Steve didn't really know what he was talking about. “That's good, isn't it?” he said at last, coming to the conclusion Bucky was talking about his time with Hydra when they had captured him in Azzano._

_But Bucky shook his head._

“ _I want to remember. But I can't. I just can't.” He started sobbing._

“ _Shh, I've got you. It's alright, I've got you.” Steve rubbed small circles into Bucky's back._

_Gradually, Bucky's sobs subsided and he stopped shaking. Steve kept holding him in his arms._

“ _My Ma used to do that. When I was sick. Telling me everything was going to be alright. And stroking my hair.”_

_Steve couldn't remember a single time Bucky had been sick, he was the one to get sick. Nevertheless, he just went with it._

“ _Yeah?”_

_Bucky nodded against his shoulder._

“ _You think she's okay?”_

“ _Yes,” Steve answered him, although he had no idea._

“ _You will take care of her, right? While I'm gone, you will look after her, won't you?”_

“ _Of course, Bucky. I promise. She will be fine,” Steve said and pulled Bucky a little closer._

_And then he added, because he had to, because he might never have the chance again:_

“ _I love you.”_

“ _I love you, too, Steve.”_

 

Steve woke up with a start. Sitting bolt upright in his bed, his still sleep addled mind was filled with the images from his dream. With Bucky. Oh God! Tears streamed down his face and Steve pulled his knees close to his body, hugging them and crying his heart out.

 


	4. Chapter 3: Faces From The Past

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for reading and/or leaving kudos!  
> Hope, you enjoy the new chapter.

**Chapter 3: Faces From The Past**

“And Jason just got a promotion. He is now junior assistant. I'm sure one day he will run that place all on his own,” Robert said between two bites of cake.

Winifred sipped her tea and nodded once in a while, feigning interest in her grandson's chatter. He had come for his obligatory visit. Every three months he visited Winifred for two hours to look how she was doing and to see if the nursing home spent the money he gave them the way he wanted them to. And of course, to brag about his children. Jason was his pride and joy, living up to his expectations with his chosen career, his wife and since four month ago his new grandchild. (Winifred's third great-great-grandchild – really, it was getting ridiculous. She already had trouble to remember all the names of her great-grandchildren and now they were starting to have kids too. She refused to learn their names.)

“Oh, Barbara sends her love by the way. She's so sorry she couldn't make it,” Robert continued, still oblivious to Winifred's lack of interest.

“That's quite alright, dear,” she said. It wouldn't do to say nothing at all, lest Robert started to think she was getting demented. “She's not ill, is she?”

“Oh no, she's fine. She just had this appointment she couldn't cancel.”

Winifred nodded, not believing one word he was saying. She knew that Barbara had never liked her and the feeling was mutual. Winifred couldn't stand the woman who was in her opinion a haughty and phony woman. Rebecca had thought so, too. Many an afternoon had she spent in Winifred's kitchen, bemoaning her son's choice.

Well, that was all in the past now. Rebecca was no more and Winifred had to keep her thoughts on her grand-daughter-in-law (was that even a word?) to herself.

“Anyway, Grandma, I better get going. Traffic will be horrible if I wait any longer,” Robert said while standing up.

“Of course. Drive safe.”

He kissed her on the cheek.

“And call me if anything is amiss, you hear? We are paying good money for this home. Can't let them get away with neglecting their duties.”

“Don't worry, everything is fine,” Winifred countered. To be honest, she could have done with a less extravagant home, she had spent her whole life working and leading a simple life, but she wouldn't complain.

“See you next time.”

“Bye, Grandma.”

And he was gone. Winifred leaned back in her armchair and took another sip of her tea. She would have preferred coffee, but they wouldn't let her have any. Coffee wasn't good for her health and such nonsense. She had drunk coffee her whole life and it obviously hadn't effected her. She was hundred-eleven, what harm would a cup of coffee do her? But the fight for this wasn't worth the effort, so tea it was.

Winifred looked out the window. It was a sunny Saturday afternoon, perfect weather for a walk around the park. While she contemplated to go up and get her coat or ask one of the nurses to get it for her, the head nurse Mrs Ainsley approached her in the little alcove she was sitting in.

“Mrs. Barnes, I didn't want to disturb you while your grandson was here. You had a call earlier. Steve Rogers would like to visit you. Of course, I told him I had to ask you first.”

Winifred frowned. Steve Rogers was dead, regardless what the news told her. So who was this impertinent imposter? And why on earth did he want to talk to her?

She scoffed. “I don't know who that is and I certainly don't want to meet him,” she informed Mrs Ainsley. Expecting her to leave her alone now, Winifred turned away. When that was not the case she looked at the lingering nurse once more.

“Yes?”

Mrs Ainsley clearly felt uncomfortable. “I'm sorry, Mrs. Barnes, of course, this is entirely your decision, but I think it would be beneficial if he visited. For the other residents, too, I mean, Captain America himself. That would raise the spirits a bit, you know?”

Winifred bristled at that. What did she care about getting the spirits up? She wanted nothing to do with this PR stunt of the return of Captain America. There was just no way that Steve was alive.

It was getting on her last nerve. How dare they use Steve's memory in that way? The more she thought about it, the more enraged she became. This imposter needed to be taught a lesson and if no one else would to do it, she would do it herself. (To prove once and for all that Steve couldn't be alive; if nothing else than to soothe her traitorous heart that held a speck of hope that it could be miraculously true.)

“Fine. Tell him he can come tomorrow afternoon.”

Mrs. Ainsley seemed a bit stunned at her sudden change of mind, but she recovered quickly.

“Thank you, Mrs. Barnes. I really appreciated it, as will every one else.”

Winifred just nodded and proceeded to look out the window. The desire for a walk was gone.

 

Steve was nervous. He didn't know why. It wasn't like he had never met Winifred Barnes, he had known her his whole life, had spent many afternoons in her kitchen. His mother had been friends with her (inevitable with him and Bucky being practically inseparable). And yet, he broke into a cold sweat at the thought of meeting the old woman. And old she was. He had hardly believed that she was still alive. Initially, he had wanted to visit her grave and lay down some flowers. (After all he had promised Bucky to look after her – dream or not, a promise was a promise.) So when he had looked up the Barnes family and found that there was no death date for Bucky's mother, he had thought it must have been a mistake. But a little more digging confirmed it: Winifred Barnes was still alive and apparently very fit for her age. (Other than Peggy who had something called Alzheimer and had forgotten Steve was back after fifteen minutes into his visit. After he had left, he had locked himself into a cupboard and cried for fifteen minutes. He had been so happy when he had heard that Peggy was still alive. Finally, someone he could talk to, who saw Steve and knew who he really was. That happiness had been short lived.)

A call to the nursing home and one return call later, Steve was on his way to the suburbs of New York. He hoped there wouldn't be too much commotion upon his arrival. The nurse he had talked to had said something about how great it would be to have Captain America visit.

Steve had suppressed a sigh at that. He was coming as Steve Rogers, not Captain America. He really wished people would start to see the difference. Not any time soon, apparently. So he had only asked that there would be no press or anything there.

“Of course not, Captain. We have very high standards in our home and some of our more prominent residents value their privacy. There won't be any reporters present, I can promise you that,” the woman had assured him, although she had sounded disappointed. A visit from Captain America would have been good publicity for the home.

When Steve drove through the iron gates and saw the grand building in the distance, he wondered who paid for Winifred's stay here. Certainly not Winifred herself. She never would have made enough money. Steve guessed it was one of her grandchildren, which she had a great many of. (No one with the name Barnes though, Bucky had been the only boy of the four children.)

As soon as Steve turned off his bike and set his foot on the first step, the door opened and a woman in a white dress and red cardigan came out.

“Captain America! It's so nice of you to come and visit us,” she said enthusiastically and shook his hand when he offered it.

“My pleasure, Miss …” Steve said, trying to hide how nervous he was behind a smile.

“Mrs Ainsely. But let's go inside. Everyone is so excited to meet you.”

Steve followed her while wondering if this had been a good idea.

The inside of the building lived up to its exterior. Everything looked expansive and grand and a little over the top in Steve's opinion: the marble floor, thick red carpets, plush armchairs, velvet curtains. It was hard to imagine Winifred Barnes living in such a place. The resolute and strong woman Steve remembered stood in stark contrast to this fancy rich people's home.

“Why don't you follow me into the common room, Captain?”

The common room fitted the entrance hall, the same grandeur and extravagance. Not that Steve had the time to take everything in. As soon as he entered the room, he was confronted with all kinds of people who called his name and tried to get his attention by waving old pictures and comic books they wanted him to sign.

“Wow, what a reception,” Steve stammered. “It's … nice to meet you all.”

God, when had he become such a stammering mess? He had danced and performed in front of hundreds of people, fought in the war – he should be able to handle this little gathering of elderly people. But that was not the reason he had come for, right? He had come to see Bucky's mother, to see if she was doing alright and … and maybe talk to her about the past. About Bucky. (He was not sure he would be able to do that.)

While he made small talk (or tried to, at least) and gave autographs, he scanned the room. He didn't see her. She wasn't one of the people who tried to get his attention. Not that Steve had expected her to. Half an hour later he decided he had done enough. Time for Captain America to step back and let Steve Rogers take over for once.

“It's been really great to meet all of you. Really, it's just that I …”

And all of a sudden, he saw her. Winifred Barnes. She sat in a corner on the far end of the room, scrutinizing him, her face full of mistrust. She was so very old! Her brown hair had become white, her face wrinkled, her body bent forward, crooked from a hard life, her blue eyes watery and pale. Nevertheless, it was still undoubtedly her. The same proud and no nonsense look. The same frowning face. Steve vividly remembered countless times he and Bucky had gotten into trouble and she had scolded them in her kitchen, hands stemmed into her hips, a wooden spoon in one hand, a pot of stew cooking on the oven behind her. Steve had to swallow around the lump in his throat.

 

Winifred observed Steve very closely from the moment he entered the room. He certainly looked like him. Or him after he had been experimented on, anyway. She had never met him after his change, only saw the pictures of him in the newspaper. If it hadn't been for Bucky's letters in which he had described how Steve had changed and how incredible it was that he had become Captain America, she wouldn't have believed that this national icon was tiny Steve Rogers.

It took half an hour for him to free himself of the people surrounding him and coming over to her little corner.

“Mrs. Barnes, it's so nice to … I mean, I never thought … that is … that you're still …” he stammered. Despite herself Winifred smiled. That was so like Steve, how she remembered him. A bundle of nerves when talking to her, giant or not.

“That I'm still alive, you mean?”

Steve blushed.

“I'm sorry, that was very rude. I …” He looked down at his hands. Suddenly, he said horrified:

“I forgot the flowers!” His head snapped up to her, eyes wide with alarm. “I meant to bring you some. Yellow asters. I went to the shop yesterday, but they didn't have any. And I meant to go this morning …”

Winifred felt tears welling in her eyes. He remembered her favorite flowers! Who else would know that? It was such a tiny little detail, easily forgotten over time. But he remembered. After all this time, he remembered and felt so ashamed that he hadn't brought any. And that look on his face was so familiar to her. She had seen it so many times: when he had forgotten to bring the cake Sarah had baked when Rebecca had been born and Steve hadn't thought to bring it over when he came to play with Bucky. Or when he had picked flowers for Georgiana's birthday and they had been crushed by some boys from school who always had made fun of him. It was impossible, but it was him. Steve was really and truly alive!

“Steve, it's alright. Come here!” She raised her arms and pulled him close.

“I can't believe it's really you,” she whispered as she held him.

They stayed like that for a while. (And if a part of her pretended it was Bucky she held in her arms, no one would know.)

“I hope, it is okay that I came to visit,” Steve said when he sat down beside her. “I would have come sooner, if I had known you were … living here,” he ended a little awkwardly and smiled sheepishly at her.

“I'm glade you came, Steve,” she said and really meant it. With Steve here she felt less out of place, less like a relic gathering dust in a corner. Finally she could talk to someone who had been there. Who knew what she was talking about when she spoke of Mrs Monrose's apple pie, of the winter in 1931, of Mr. Garland's corner shop.

“But how are you alive?” she asked, because she had to. It was so strange. Here he was, not a day older than 27 while she had withered away and barely recognized herself in the mirror.

Steve shrugged. “I don't know. They say it's the serum. That it kept me alive while I was frozen.”

“Must have been quite a shock to suddenly wake up in 2011.”

He laughed. The same laugh she had heard so many times when they had sat in her kitchen and Bucky had told one of his stories. (It hurt to think about that, but for the first time in a long while she knew it was okay to still feel this way. Steve was the only person left on this planet who would understand. Who felt the same.)

“You have no idea. One minute I am in 1945 and flying a plane and next thing I know I am in New York which is filled with all this futuristic stuff.”

She froze at his words.

“Does that mean … it's only a few months for you since … since Bucky …” She couldn't say it. After all these years, she couldn't say it.

He didn't look her in the eyes.

“Yeah.” That was all he said.

Winifred took his hand and squeezed it, feeling the same sharp pain in her chest he did. It was a comfort to finally be able to share her grief after such a long time of shouldering it on her own. Just knowing he missed him as much as she did (maybe even more) was enough. But she had to ask. Had to know the answer to the one question that had tormented her for seventy years.

“He didn't suffer, did he? When he … when it happened? He wasn't in pain?”

Steve took a deep breath before he looked up to her. She could see in his eyes that he wanted to say: No, he didn't suffer. It was quick and painless. But something changed his mind. For when he opened his mouth, he said: “I don't think so, no. He fell and I guess it was quick when he … when he landed. But he screamed and he … was terrified. I could hear it in his voice. But in the end … it was quick, I guess.”

Winifred nodded, unable to say a word. It wasn't the answer she had wanted, not the one she had needed. It was the one she had expected. Her baby had been so scared to die and she hadn't been there to comfort him, to save him.

“I'm so sorry. I tried to save him, but I couldn't reach him in time.” Tears were streaming down his face and he looked so broken and lost that Winifred pulled him into her arms again.

“It's okay, Steve. I don't blame you,” she whispered into his hair. “He certainly wouldn't blame you. It's not your fault.”

Steve sobbed into her shoulder and while she was crying herself she wondered if this was the first time he let himself really feel his loss and share his grief with someone.

“He wouldn't want you to blame yourself. He loved you so much.”

Steve stiffened at her words.

Oh, surely he hadn't thought that she didn't know.

“It's alright, I know, Steve. I know what you meant to each other.”

He cried even harder when he heard her words. She stroked his hair and whispered reassuringly into his ears, pouring all the love she felt for her boy onto the man he had loved.

Oh yes, she had seen the way Bucky's face had lit up whenever he talked about Steve. How he seemed more relaxed and happy in his presence. No girl he had taken out to dance (and there had been a few) had ever managed to make his eyes shine bright like the sun. Of course, she had hoped she had been wrong, that she had imagined the way her son looked at his best friend. But deep down she had known. Had known that her Bucky had been hopelessly in love with his best friend. Just as Steve had been with him. Although, back then, she had never been sure if they had known it themselves. If they had understood their feelings for each other as the deep and true love that only came once in a lifetime. The way Steve was crying confirmed it to her. He knew what he had lost, knew what he was missing. The tears he spent were for his lost love, his broken heart and his lonely soul that didn't know how to go on without his other half. Without Bucky.

But Bucky was gone. And Winifred knew that she had to help Steve in every way she could. That she had to take care of him, so he wouldn't lose himself in this world that wasn't his anymore.

She owed her son that much.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> Let me know what you think. :)


	5. Chapter 4: Struggling

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey,  
> first of all, I'm sorry this chapter took so long. I will try to update faster, but I can't make any promises.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading and/or leaving kudos so far. And a special thank you to silmarfan1, Flinx8 and kiki for your comments! :) :)  
> I hope you like this new chapter just as much!  
> Of course, Bucky will be a part of this story and Winifred will live to see it. Everything else would be just cruel. XD
> 
> I had a little bit of fun writing this chapter and put in some characters from TV shows I like. They only make a short appearance here and will in all likelihood never be mentioned again. Like I said, I just had a little fun putting them in there. :)

**Chapter 4: Struggling**

Steve walked through the city, watching the people around him, rushing to their various appointments. No one seemed to take the time to stop, all of them to busy to notice their surroundings. He shook his head. He couldn't understand the people these days. He tried, he really tried, but it was hard to even talk to someone when he didn't even understand half of what they were saying. All the tiny little references that everyone else didn't even notice and understood in a second, left Steve pondering for hours. (Just the other day when he had finally plucked up the courage and went to a store to buy a radio. He had picked one that had looked the least technical and reminded him of the transmitters they had used during the war. The salesperson at the front desk had joked while he had counted the money Steve had given him: “You want to phone home with this one?” Steve had only stared at him blank faced and had left as fast as he could.)

And everyone seemed so open about everything! There were no topics you couldn't talk about on the street, no clothes too short to wear in public. Steve still blushed when he saw a woman in a skirt or pants so short they barely covered anything. At his time, a woman going out like that would have been arrested on the spot for public indecency. Or dragged back home by a guardian. If she had been allowed out of the house in the first place. That was another thing: women could suddenly live on their own, get any job they wanted, do anything men were able to do, make decisions over their own life. Which was great, really. Steve was all for equality and he was happy to see how things had changed for the better. But nevertheless, it took a little time to get used to.

The biggest revelation was the legalization of same sex relationships. Even marriage was possible for two men or two women. And adoption. Steve had nearly walked into ongoing traffic when he had seen two men kissing and holding hands in the middle of the streets. Only the quick reflexes of a middle-aged woman, who had grabbed him by the elbow, had saved him from imminent death. He hadn't even thanked her, just had stood dumbfounded on the side walk, his mind going a mile an hour. He still didn't know how he got home that day. He only remembered laying on his bed, starring on the wall for hours and thinking about everything he could have now, if only … if only he had Bucky by his side.

He took a turn to the left, leaving the main street to walk down a less crowded alley, before he turned right. Even though it had been difficult (still was) and he struggled with, well, everything, he had come to like his walks through the city that had once been his home. Especially this street. It was lined with old brick buildings and quirky little shops which were frequented by all kinds of people. Steve liked to watch them (even if he didn't understand them), see their colorful diversity. Once, he had seen a man in a fez and a bow tie, muttering to himself and waving some kind of device with a green light. A couple of days later he had glimpsed a man in a World War II coat rushing past him so fast that Steve could never be sure, but he had looked exactly like Captain Harkness who Steve had met briefly in London in 1942.

He went past the McLaren's Pub, where he had met Agent Hill's twin sister when he had wanted to taste the brands of beers the 21st century had to offer. After starring at her and her quite frankly very strange group of friends for ten minutes, not believing this to be a place Agent Hill would frequent, she had come over to order another round of beer and had whispered from the corner of her mouth that she was not Maria Hill but her twin sister and that no one could know about her and her sister. For security reasons. Steve had only nodded and had left soon after.

At last, Steve reached his destination, the Pie Hole. He had found this little bakery the first time he had walked down the street, intrigued by the design of the canvas blind, which looked like a pie crust, and the homey interior seen through the windows. The couple, who ran the place and were just as sweet as the pastries they offered their customers, and the tiny blonde waitress, who had a beautiful singing voice, were just an extra bonus to the delicious pie. The pie was the main reason Steve came as often as he could. It just tasted heavenly and reminded him of the apple pie his mother used to bake. Or the cherry pie Winifred had baked for Bucky's birthday.

He sat down at his favorite table in the corner.

The waitress – Olive – came over immediately, coffee pot already in hand and poured him a cup while she asked: “What can I bring you today, sugar? Apple, cherry, blue berry?”

Steve smiled. He liked Olive. She was one of the few people he found easy to talk to.

“Surprise me.”

She winked at him and went on to refill the cups of the two men sitting at the next table. Steve had never seen them before and in his limited experience with New Yorkers, they looked out of place for the city. Dressed in flannel shirts, jeans and boots, one of them was engrossed in something on his laptop while the other shoveled down a slice of pie.

“Really, Sam, you have to taste this pie! It's the best ever! Like I don't care if the world is ending and all this people here are really werewolves, vampires and demons best,” he said while practically licking the vanilla cream and the apple filling from his fingers. (Not that Steve could blame him. And werewolves, vampires and demons – what the hell?)

“Yeah, later, Dean,” the other mumbled, furiously tipping on his key board.

Before Steve could listen to more of their conversation or marvel at Dean's strange phrasing (probably another references he didn't understand), Olive arrived with his slice of late summer cherry pie, at the same time as his phone ringed, informing him about a received text message.

“Thanks,” he said and smiled while pulling out his phone.

“Any time, sugar.”

Steve started eating and reading the message from Fury. He wanted him to come to some top secret meeting with Howard's kid on Monday. Steve scrunched up his face. He had met Tony Stark only briefly a few weeks back and hadn't liked him very much. Judging from Stark's face the entire time, the feeling had been mutual. He stuffed the phone back into his pocket and concentrated on his pie. He would deal with this come Monday morning. Today he would enjoy the rest of his pie and go to the gym later. And tomorrow he would visit Winifred at her nursing home. He already looked forward to it, it was the highlight of his week. (A tiny voice in his head, sounding suspiciously like Bucky, told him how boring his life must be if visiting an old woman was his favorite past time – but Steve ignored it.) He visited her every Sunday. Every Sunday at three o'clock. They drank tea and ate cake and went for a walk where they talked about anything and nothing. It was about the only time Steve felt like he could be completely himself without anyone expecting anything from him.

 

 

 

“So, how are you doing, Steve?” Winifred asked him as they were walking through the vast park of the nursing home. Steve hesitated for a split second before he answered: “Fine. I mean, everything is still so unbelievable and new. The technology alone! And I thought the SSR and Hydra had fancy stuff, but the things today … Unbelievable! But I'm doing okay. Even found out how the computer worked they gave me. Lots of helpful stuff.” Steve smiled and thought he made a decent job of it, but Winifred just leveled him with a look he had seen so many times growing up. From her as well as his own mother. Must be some kind of universal 'I see right through your crap' stare all mothers around the world had mastered by the time their children started to tell the occasional white lie to get out of trouble.

When he didn't say anything, Winifred said with a stern voice: “Steven Grant Rogers, I have known you since you could walk. So tell me the truth, how are you doing, really?”

Despite himself, Steve had to smile. He should have known that he wouldn't get away with this. Not with her.

“I wasn't lying. Not entirely, anyway. It gets easier to adjust to all the … the changes. But …”

Here he trailed off. Even if he got used to this new century, he felt out of place. The truth it all came down to was: He missed his old life. Before the war. Before he had become Captain America. Not necessarily being a skinny, sickly kid who no one – almost no one – took seriously and who was bed ridden more times than not, but his life in general. Where he knew his way around, knew how the world ticked and his place in it. Knew what to expect from his future. Even in the war, between all the killing, bloodshed and danger, when they had allowed themselves to think about the time afterwards, he had thought his life would go back to its normal pace. Sure, for a time he would have still played the role of Captain America, but the feelings of triumph and euphoria over a victory would have died down eventually. And then … then he would have resumed his life like it had been before. Only healthy. And strong. And with Bucky by his side. Together.

A memory of a warm night in Italy in 1944 came to the forefront of his mind.

 

_Steve stood at the edge of the clearing, staring into the darkness, lost in his thoughts about the next day and their planed raid of a Hydra base not far from where they had made camp for the night._

_He was so lost in his own head that he didn't hear Bucky approach until he put a hand onto his shoulder. Steve looked up, startled._

“ _Steve, stop worrying and get some sleep,” Bucky said quietly._

“ _But...”_

“ _No buts. Even supersoldiers need to rest. Now come on,” Bucky insisted and stirred him back to the remains of the campfire where they had rolled out their bedrolls. It was warm enough to sleep outside and they were only here for one night, so no one had bothered to set up a tent._

_The others were all sleeping (except Falsworth who was keeping watch in the surrounding forest), engaged in a snoring contest. So far, Dum Dum was winning._

“ _Not a chance getting much sleep with this lot around,” Steve told Bucky, but nevertheless settled beside him._

_Bucky snorted. “Yeah. The way they are going, there won't be much of a forest left come morning.”_

_Steve smiled. “Like you are one to talk. Remember when Mrs Kellerman next door complained about that infernal noise that kept her up at night?”_

_That earned him a thump in the ribs._

“ _I keep telling you, that wasn't me. God knows what that woman was hearing. Rats probably.”_

“ _Whatever you want to believe, Buck,” Steve grinned. The cover of darkness gave him the confidence to creep closer and nestle himself comfortably on his lover. Bucky put his arm around him and pulled him closer to his chest._

_They didn't talk for some time, enjoying each others company and this rare moment of intimacy._

_After a while Steve asked: “You think, she will still be there when we come home? Mrs Kellerman, I mean.”_

“ _Definitely. That woman is gonna outlive us all,” Bucky answered with a yawn. “But to be honest, I almost miss the old hag. I think she liked me, deep down.”_

_Steve couldn't help the snort that escaped him._

“ _She hated you, Buck. Said you were a good for nothing scoundrel for getting me in trouble all the time.”_

“ _As if you need my help for getting in trouble,” Bucky retorted and Steve could practically hear the eye roll. “And if anything, you are getting me in trouble.”_

“ _Oh, yeah?” Steve pushed himself up on his elbows to look at Bucky. “And how do I do that, exactly?” he asked with feint innocence, his face inches from Bucky's._

_Bucky licked his lips and his eyes sparkled, making Steve's heart skip a beat._

“ _Oh, that list is endless. Don't even know where to start.”_

_Bucky's raspy voice and the way he stared at Steve's lips made Steve throw caution to the wind as he kissed his lover fiercely. Bucky groaned and pulled Steve on top of him, snaking his arms around Steve and digging his fingers into his muscular back._

_When Steve tangled his hands in Bucky's hair and broke the kiss to attack the brunette's throat with his lips, Bucky gasped: “That. That is exactly the way you get me into trouble, Rogers.”_

“ _So you want me to stop?” Steve murmured, licking over a bruise he had left at Bucky's neck._

“ _God no!”_

“ _Didn't think so.”_

_They continued to kiss, their bodies wrapped around each other, hands roaming over every reachable part until Steve finally rolled off Bucky. He might be reckless, using the darkness and the dead like sleep the Howlies were currently in to make some time with his lover, but he wasn't suicidal. They might get away with an extended make out session, but nothing more._

“ _You know what?” Bucky said after a while, still a little breathless. “I hate this fucking war. And these bloody Nazis, who won't stop fighting. I hate the food and the dirt and sleeping on the goddamn forest floor!”_

“ _I know,” Steve answered. And after a few seconds, he added: “You could always … I mean, you really did enough ...”_

_Bucky interrupted him with an angry hiss. “Don't you dare say it, Rogers! I'm not going home. Not without you! So stuff it and go to sleep.” To underline his words Bucky rolled to the side, turning his back to Steve._

_The silence stretched, only interrupted by the sounds of the forest and the animals who lived in it and who sounded so very different from their daytime counterparts. Steve knew that Bucky wasn't sleeping. He could still hear his angry breathing, far to loud to be mistaken for a restful slumber._

_When he couldn't take it anymore, Steve moved close to Bucky, pressing himself against his back and putting an arm around him. Bucky huffed, but didn't pull away._

“ _I'm sorry,” Steve murmured and planted a kiss an Bucky's jaw. “You know I want you here. Couldn't do anything without you.”_

“ _Damn right you couldn't. Would get yourself killed within a day, if I don't watch your sorry ass,” Bucky grumbled in response, but there was no heat in his voice and Steve knew that he wasn't angry anymore. Just frustrated with the situation in general. And who could blame him?_

“ _When we get home, when all this is over,” Steve said, “we will buy a house at a beach somewhere. With no one around. Just us, for miles and miles.”_

“ _Yeah?” Bucky turned a bit to look at Steve, a small smile on his face._

“ _Yeah. And you can go swimming every day and I will draw you when you dry off in the sun. And I will make you breakfast every day. Bacon and eggs and pancakes and coffee and chocolate chip cookies.”_

_Bucky laughed. “Chocolate chip cookies? For breakfast?”_

“ _Yeah. Why not? We are war heroes. We can eat what we want for breakfast. And you like them.”_

“ _I do,” Bucky mumbled, nestling himself in Steve's arms and tucking his head under his chin. “What else?”_

_Steve kissed his forehead before he continued._

“ _We will get a huge bed. Like the one we saw in the shop-window once. With a mattress so soft you could sink in it.”_

_He talked well into the night, spinning a tale of a peaceful life together they both knew they could never have._

 

A dog barking in the distance brought Steve back into the present.

He swallowed past the lump in his throat.

“I miss my home,” he finally admitted. “I miss the feeling of belonging anywhere. I don't fit in. I don't understand the people nowadays. They are always in a rush. No one talks to anyone anymore. Not really. And I miss being just Steve. Everyone ever sees Captain America. But I'm not him. Not entirely. I don't know what I want anymore. What is there in this world for me?”

Winifred had listened silently to him. When he ended, she squeezed his arm in sympathy.

“I wish, I could tell you what you should do, but I can't. I can only give you some advise. Try to find some people you can trust, who you like to spend time with. Do things you enjoy. Drawing. You were so good, Steve. I still have some of your pictures.”

He smiled at her.

“Really?”

“Of course! As if I would throw them away. They are so beautiful.”

They came to a park bench and sat down, Winifred needing to catch her breath. Steve sat beside her, the leaves dancing in the early autumn wind around them.

“I know it can't be easy to find a new purpose in life. Something to get up for in the morning. But you can still do a lot of good, Steve. Not only as Captain America, but as yourself, too. You're a kindhearted, loyal, brave and compassionate man.”

Steve blushed, unable to say anything.

“And for what it's worth,” Winifred continued, “you made an old woman very happy by coming back from the dead and taking care of her when she was weary of her life.”

She smiled at him and took his hand in hers. “You will find your way, Steve, I'm certain of it. You are to stubborn to let this defeat you.”

Steve had to laugh at that, thinking that Bucky would have said the exact same thing to him.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! Hope you liked it and let me know what you think! :)
> 
> Quick question: Would you like to meet more of Winifred's family? I have a whole family tree with all her grandkids and great grandkids mapped out.  
> I have an idea for a chapter where they would all show up and depending on your interest I would get into more details about them.


	6. Chapter 5: Steve's Mom

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so, so sorry this chapter took so long! I meant this to be posted in September, but didn't find the time and before I knew it, it was October. On the bright side: now the events in this chapter fit perfectly with the real date. :)
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading and for leaving Kudos!  
> And to silmarlfan1, To_All_The_Ships_That_Never_Sailed, FalloutGirl2277, ecc903 and BuffyRowan: Thank you so much for your lovely comments! It makes me so happy to read them!!!
> 
> About this chapter:  
> I guess, it's pretty obvious that Sarah Rogers is the center of attention here. I think Steve would think more about his mother now with all the changes he has to deal with, so I decided to make her the focus of a chapter.
> 
> I've never been to New York (or the US) and the few places mentioned are the result of a quick Google search. Feel free to point out any mistakes and I will correct them.
> 
> I don't know if it's necessary, but just in case: Steve is pretty down in this chapter, bordering on depression (I think), so if that is a problem for you, read with caution.
> 
> I hope you enjoy it and let me know what you think!

**Chapter 5: Steve's Mom**

 

Steve woke up slowly. Groggily, he rolled onto his side and blinked the sleep from his eyes. One look at the clock on his nightstand told him that it was 5:25 in the morning. Only five minutes left before his alarm would go off. Five minutes left before he had to go up and start his day. Go running, eat breakfast, take a shower, attend a meeting at S.H.I.E.L.D. … Just like yesterday.

But today was different. Everything was different today. Today was October the 15th. The day his mother had died. And Steve missed her. So much.

Of course, his mom had died a long time ago. Long before he had even become Captain America. Her death was part of another life. (Steve didn't know what it said about himself that he could divide his life in three entirely different parts: sickly and skinny kid in Brooklyn with a low life expectancy, Super Soldier in the army and national icon and – what was he now? Man out of his time, struggling to find his place?) But even so he had dealt with his grief and had at long last accepted his mother's passing way back when, he still missed her. Would always miss her and especially today!

So, with an aching heart and a deep longing in his chest, he turned off his phone. He wanted to be left alone and remember his mother without anyone demanding or asking anything of him.

His alarm went off and Steve briefly considered staying in bed. But he knew that wouldn't do him any good, would only make it worse. With a sigh he rubbed his hands across his face and got up.

 

 

After a quick shower and a short breakfast Steve went down the stairs. He had tried to look as inconspicuously as he could while at the same time looking at his best. Pulling up the collar of his leather jacket against the strong autumn wind, he crossed the street and walked a couple of blocks before he entered a little flower shop at the corner of Center Boulevard and 49th Avenue. He had come here before to buy flowers for Winifred and had been back a couple of times after that. (He liked to have flowers in his apartment, so what? It was a small luxury he allowed himself to have.)

The woman at the counter – Donna – smiled at him.

“Back so soon? Don't tell me those daisies have already faded!”

Steve smiled back at her. He liked the middle-aged woman with her kind smiles she seemed to have for everyone and the wrinkles around her eyes from years of laughing. And she didn't care who her customers were.

“No, they are still fresh. Thank you.”

“Good. Can't have the people think I sell them flowers of inferior quality. Now,” she clapped her hands together and came around the counter. “Which of these beauties catch your eye?”

Out of courtesy, Steve took a look around, although he already knew what he wanted.

Roses, lilies, sunflowers, gardenias and all kinds of flowers filled the tiny space around him. All of them looked beautiful in their own way. He could have spent hours looking at them, smelling them, feeling their soft petals under his fingers...

Maybe another time.

He turned back to Donna.

“I would like some forget-me-nots. If you have them, that is,” he added.

Donna raised her eyebrows, her smile never leaving her face.

“You sure have some peculiar taste, love. Most men, who come in here, buy roses. Not very creative, if you ask me. But then again, can't do anything wrong with a bouquet of fine roses. Almost everyone likes them, don't they?”

While she was talking Donna had gone to the back of her shop, her voice rising in volume the further she got away. (Steve wondered not for the first time how big the shop actually was. It looked so tiny from the street outside.)

“Here you go, love,” Donna said when she came back and pressed a pot full of forget-me-nots into his hands.

Steve let himself marvel at the beauty of the tiny flowers for a minute. His mother had loved them. Her face had lit up every time she had she had seen them. Be it in a shop window, in a park or the hands of a stranger on the streets. She had smiled so wide and happy, Steve could have watched her for hours. For her birthday, he had always gotten her at least one forget-me-not. With her death he had brought them to her grave, on her birthday and the day of her death. Every year until he had gone to war. Now that he was back he wanted to continue that tradition. (He felt a little guilty that he hadn't visited his mother before. He had to deal with so much, figure so much out for himself, he just hadn't found the time – or the strength – to go. But she would have understood that. At least, he hoped so.)

With the forget-me-nots securely wrapped in paper Steve walked back outside and went on his way to the cemetery.

 

 

Cypress Hill Cemetery. Steve stood before the gate and stared up at the intricate stonework. The memory of a mild October day in 1936 came back to him.

 

_Silently, Steve watched as the casket was lowered into the ground. He resisted the urge to throw himself on top of it, to cling onto his mother. What was he supposed to do without her? How did anyone live without their mother? He felt so lonely and empty, so lost in a world that had suddenly become so much more terrifying._

“ _... and so we give Sarah Rogers into the hands of Our Lord. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust,” the priest said as he threw a handful of sand into the open grave. The old priest from the church in their neighborhood was the only one who had come to the cemetery after the service in the church. Steve had barely listened to any of his words since they had arrived and only nodded numbly when Father Francis patted him on the shoulder and said in parting: “Be brave, my boy. She is in a better place now, where she will know no pain, only peace and love.”_

_Because she never had that when she was alive? There had been pain, yes, but also love. So much of it. Why did she have to go? It wasn't fair! He still needed her, would always need her. Bitterness and resentment filled him and he was so angry! With the priest, who couldn't find better words to console him in his grief. (Not that he had expected more than religious sermons.) With the neighbors, who had nothing to say to him beside how very tragic and unfair it was that his mother had died. (He already knew that, he didn't need them to tell him.) With the world in general for all the injustice. (If they hadn't been so poor, if his mother didn't have to work in a TB ward, if people would just share what they had instead of living in luxury while others starved … if, if, if …)_

_He was angry with Bucky for not coming to the cemetery with him. (Which was really not fair of him. He had wanted to be alone, had deliberately avoided his best friend and his parents after the service because of a desperate need to be alone with his mother one last time.) He was angry with himself. (Wasn't it really his fault that his mother was dead? If he hadn't been so sick all the time, if he had only been a little more healthy, she wouldn't have been forced to work so many hours.) And he was angry with his mother. (He was ashamed to even think it, but it was true. Part of him was so angry with her for leaving him, he could hardly breath.)_

“ _Nothing to it, son. Have ta except it. She's gone and ain't comin' back, but you have her with ya in your heart. Ain't no one who can take that away from ya.”_

_Steve jumped at the sudden voice. A weather-beaten man stood beside him, leaning on a shovel. The grave digger. Who would bury his mother, taking her from Steve once and for all …_

_It took a while for his words to sink in, but when they did, Steve felt all the anger drain from his body, leaving only grief and sadness. But also the feeling of his mother's love, the memory of her warm embrace, the sound of her laughter, the image of her smile._

“ _Thank you,” he whispered quietly and turned around, not waiting to see how the earth took his mother into its arms. He had a sudden, desperate need for company and he knew Bucky would be waiting for him when he got home._

 

_Steve could see Bucky long before he reached the building, where he had lived the last sixteen years with his mother and he now had to live without her. At least, if the landlord let him stay._

_Bucky was sitting on the stairs, still dressed in his best suit, which he had worn for the memorial service, and smoked a cigarette. A smile played across Steve's face. He may have lost his mother, but he still had Bucky. Would always have Bucky._

_When Bucky saw him approaching, he flipped his cigarette into the curb and stood up. Hands in his pockets, he waited for Steve._

“ _Hey,” he greeted him before looking Steve up and down with a frown. “Did you walk all the way here?”_

“ _Don't worry, Buck,” Steve tried to reassure his friend. “It's so warm today, I won't get sick. And I needed some air.”_

“ _If you say so,” Bucky said, not sounding convinced. But he dropped the subject and followed Steve up the stairs._

“ _We looked for you after. My folks wanted to give you a ride to the cemetery.”_

_Steve felt guilty that he had just vanished without a word, even when he knew that Bucky didn't blame him. Was just worried about him._

“ _I know, I'm sorry. I just … kind of wanted to be alone.”_

_There was maybe a second of silence before Bucky asked: “How was it?”_

_It was … the hardest thing he ever had to do. It took everything Steve had not to collapse right now. But what he said was: “It was okay. She is next to Dad.”_

_Because what else was there to say? In the end, it didn't matter. It was done. His mother was buried and he felt so alone. Of course, he knew that Bucky didn't believe him, knew that he saw right through Steve's facade._

“ _I was gonna ask …” Bucky started._

_He didn't need to finish, Steve knew what would come next. A warm feeling of gratitude and love spread through his chest, filling some of the void his mother had left. But even so, the words that came out of his mouth were: “I know what you're gonna say, Buck, I just …” … can't. He couldn't except the offer, couldn't become a burden to Bucky like he had become to his mother. Because what would he do when he lost Bucky, too? When Bucky eventually became fed up of dragging him along? When he wanted to have a life without the trouble of looking after his sickly childhood friend? (Steve knew in his heart that would never happen. That Bucky was never ever going to leave him or get tired of his company. But he wasn't thinking straight, doubt and insecurities and grief circled through his body like a disease.)_

“ _We can put the couch cushions on the floor like when we were kids. It'll be fun. All you gotta do is shine my shoes, maybe take out the trash.” Bucky Barnes was nothing if not persistent, especially when it came to Steve. Steve listened to his words while he searched for his keys. He wanted to say yes, so badly. But something still held him back._

“ _Come on,” Bucky insisted and handed him the spare key they kept under the brick. (Not really the safest hiding place, but who would rob them anyway? There was nothing worth stealing in the tiny one bedroom apartment.)_

“ _Thank you, Buck, but I can get by on my own,” Steve said even if he didn't really want to. Where Bucky was persistent, Steve was stubborn._

_But Bucky's next words smashed all of Steve's insane doubts._

“ _The thing is, you don't have to.” He grabbed Steve's shoulder and locked him in place with his gaze, nothing but sincerity in his eyes._

“ _I'm with you 'till the end of the line, pal.”_

_Steve had to swallow past the feelings that blocked his throat. He lowered his head, hiding his smile, before he looked up again and said: “I'll think about it.”_

_Bucky grinned. “That's all I ask. Punk.”_

“ _Jerk,” Steve mumbled in response and laughed at the playful shove his friend gave him while they entered the apartment together._

_As soon as they were inside Steve's face fell and his chest clenched in pain. His mother was still so present in the room: Her apron hung in the corner, next to the stove, her pillow lay on the couch, where she had slept, leaving the only bed in the tiny bedroom to her son. Her scent still lingered in the air. Steve stood stock still for a moment before the tears were streaming down his face and he choked back a sob. Suddenly, he felt a pair of strong arms wrap around him and he was pulled against a warm body._

“ _It's okay, Stevie. I'm here,” Bucky whispered into his hair, holding him tightly in his arms. And Steve finally gave in to the urge to break down and cry._

 

Seventy years later Steve could still feel that embrace, the feeling of warmth and protection and love it had brought with it at a time he had needed it most in his life. He wished more than anything that Bucky was now here with him, to reassure him of that feeling.

Steve shook himself. He couldn't think about that now. He walked through the gate, taking in the unfamiliar surrounding. Much had changed in the last decades and he barely recognized anything. A man at the gatekeeper's house eyed him suspiciously, Steve ignored him. With his gaze to the ground he went past him. Even if much had changed, he still knew how to get to his parents' graves.

On his way he came across all kinds of headstones: old and weather-beaten, new and shiny, neglected and forgotten, well-cared for and remembered.

At last, he rounded a group of strong big oak trees that had been nothing more than little saplings when he had said goodbye to his mother the day before he had gone to basic training.

A long time Steve just stood in front of the two graves in silence. They looked better than he had expected. The writing on the stones was still visible enough to read. At least, at his mother's. He only could read the name and the dates of his father because he knew what they said.

After a moment of indecision he placed the flowers between the two graves and sat down before them, facing the stone of his mother.

“Hi, Mom. Guess you didn't expect to see me again. It's a long story, really. But I'm okay now. Mostly. I mean, it's hard, but …”

He had to swallow.

“Sorry I didn't come sooner. I just …”

Steve didn't know what to say, so he fell silent.

He started again after a while. “You should see all the stuff they have nowadays. It's amazing. And all the diseases they can cure now! Really, Mom, if you could only see …”

Steve knew he was rambling, so he stopped and stared at his hands

“I miss you,” he admitted quietly after the silence stretched on.

“And I'm lonely and scared and …”

Did he dare say it out loud?

“I wish I had died in the ice.”

There.

He had said it.

Really said it for the first time.

He only realized he was crying when he felt the tears falling down on his shaking hands.

“It's so hard!” He was sobbing now, but he didn't care. No one would hear or see him.

“And everything hurts, Mom. So much.”

 

“ _I know, Stevie, I know it hurts now. But it will get better, I promise!”_

“ _When?” Steve asked, crying into his mother's dress and clinging onto her like she would vanish if he let go for one second._

“ _Soon, sweetheart, Starting school, being in a new place where you know no one, is always hard, but you will find friends very soon and then it will be so much fun.”_

_Six-year old Steve shook his head vehemently. He didn't believe her. For once, she had to be wrong. The kids at school were so mean. They always picked on him and made fun of how skinny he was. For two weeks he had come home sniffling, barely holding back the tears. Today he broke: they had shoved him into a puddle of mud and he had hurt his knee. And they had taken his stuffed bear, his best friend, and now he was all alone in the world. Crying the whole time on his way home, he had flown into his mom's arms as soon as he had passed the threshold._

_Sitting on the couch, his mom held him close to her body and rubbed small circles into his back._

“ _It's going to be okay, sweetheart. I promise,” Sarah murmured and kissed his head. When Steve wouldn't stop crying, she rocked him back and forth in her arms and started to sing softly into his ear._

 

 _There's a long, long trail a-winding_  
Into the land of my dreams,  
Where the nightingales are singing  
And the white moon beams.  
There's a long, long night of waiting  
Until my dreams all come true;  
Till the day when I'll be going down  
That long, long trail with you.  
  
All night long I hear you calling,  
Calling sweet and low;  
Seem to hear your footsteps falling,  
Ev'ry where I go.  
Tho' the road between us stretches  
Many a weary mile,  
I forget that you're not with me yet  
When I think I see you smile.  
  
There's a long, long trail a-winding  
Into the land of my dreams,  
Where the nightingales are singing  
And the white moon beams.  
There's a long, long night of waiting  
Until my dreams all come true;  
Till the day when I'll be going down  
That long, long trail with you.

 

Hugging himself, tears drying on his face, Steve sat in the damp grass and listened to the memory of the song his mother had sung for him every time he had been sad or sick or as a lullaby.

He also thought about her words from that long ago day. That it would get better. That he would soon find friends. Funnily enough, the very next day he had met Bucky for the first time when the older boy had punched the kids in his class for making fun of him. They had been inseparable ever since and his mother had been proven right: It was always hard in the beginning, but it would eventually get better.

Somehow, Steve doubted that would be the case now …

 

 

In the following days Steve still felt down and more and more lonely. He talked to Winifred one or two times. (It helped. A bit.) He walked through the city, drove on the subway, sat in the café his mother had taken him to if the money had allowed it and drew the surrounding buildings. He went to the gym and after hours he let his frustration out on a couple of punching backs. Until one day Nick Fury sought him out to pull him in for some kind of secret initiative to safe the world.

Steve went with him. Because – what else was there for him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, we are at the start of the first Avengers movie. I won't be retelling the events of the film from Steve's perspective. I think that would be a bit boring and it would take forever.  
> I will concentrate on Winifred for the next chapters as well as the whole Barnes family. Bucky will probably continue to appear in a lot of flashbacks, but it's still some time before he will be there in person. Sorry.
> 
> Part of the dialog after the funeral of Sarah Rogers is taken directly from the second Captain America film.  
> Initially, I had planned Bucky to be there with Steve when he buries his mother, but the scene made it clear that he wasn't (which I find a bit odd, to be honest), so I changed it.  
> And I know nothing about how funerals work in the US (again just a quick Google search), so I hope there is nothing too wrong with how I wrote it. 
> 
> Lastly, the song Sarah sings to Steve at the end is called “There's a long, long trail” and was very popular during World War I. I think it's a beautiful song and I image that Sarah sings it in remembrance of her dead husband.  
> There are different versions of the song, I liked the one from the TV show “Crimson Field” best.  
> Give it a listen on youtube if you like.
> 
> Thank you for reading and let me know what you think!


	7. Chapter 6: Family and Fighting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone,
> 
> I'm so sorry this chapter took so long. Stuff got in the way and I had some trouble writing it.   
> I'm still not 100% satisfied with it, but I didn't want to keep you waiting.
> 
> Thank you to everyone for reading and/or leaving kudos so far!  
> And to GoldenChaos: Thank you so much for your comment! I'm glad you enjoy my little story. And I promise, Bucky will be a part of this story. I can't exactly say when, but it shouldn't take too long now.
> 
> Now on to the new chapter. Hope you enjoy it! :)

**Chapter 6: Family and Fighting**

 

Winifred took the last of the picture frames and cleared the glass before putting it back on the shelf. Most of the cleaning in her room was done by the staff, but Winifred wouldn't let anyone touch her prized possessions: the tableware her mother had given her when she had married George, the few pieces of jewelry she still owned, the candlesticks from her grandmother, the wooden box filled with bits and pieces of memories (George's pocket watch, Bucky's cigarette case, Margret's locket, Georgiana's lucky charm, Rebecca's collection of poems), and, of course, her pictures of her family, showing them in all the different stages of their lives. Winifred let out a deep sigh and turned away before she could dwell to long on them. She didn't feel strong enough for all the memories of her long life. Not today.

The phone on the small side table by the window rang and Winifred went over. Picking up the receiver, she sat down in her plush armchair.

“Hello?”

“Hi, it's me.”

“Steve! How nice of you to call,” Winifred said surprised. And then added worriedly: “Is everything alright?”

“Yes, everything is fine. I just called to let you know I can't make it on Sunday.” He sounded genuinely sorry that he would miss their weekly lunch date. Hastily he continued: “I really wouldn't miss it if I didn't have to, but there is this thing S.H.I.E.L.D. needs me for.”

Winifred smiled to herself. She was touched by his consideration and his worry that she would be cross with him.

“Don't worry about it, it's quite alright. And how mysterious! You have to tell me all about it next time you come visit.”

Steve chuckled. “I will, promise.”

A beat of silence and Winifred grew worried again.

“You sure everything is alright, Steve?”

He sighed. She could practically see how he rubbed his face with his hand.

“Yeah. It's just …” He fell silent again and Winifred patiently waited for him to find the right words.

“There is this guy. He's … he's not really human. At least, I think he isn't. We don't really know what he wants, but he's dangerous. And he has this army from outta space and this … weapon, which works a lot like a Hydra weapon if you ask me. Which is never a good thing.” His voice got a strange undertone. Winifred could well imagine how this disturbed Steve and rose some uncomfortable memories for him.

“I'm not sure what to do really. Fury expects as all to work together, but I don't see how. We are all so different and I don't know any of them. I'm not sure I can handle this.”

His voice had grown softer at the end and Winifred had to strain her ears to understand him.

She wished she was face to face with him right now, but as that couldn't be helped, she said:

“Listen to me, Steve. You can and will handle this. I know you and you were never one to quit. You defied everyone who said you couldn't become a soldier and you found a way to do just that. You fought in the war, you saved people and you did what was necessary to win. Just trust your instincts and focus on one problem at a time.”

Although she couldn't see his smile, she heard it in his voice when he said: “You always find the right thing to say to me. I don't know how you do it, honestly. Thank you.”

“Comes with being a mother and living as long as I have. Now go and get to know your teammates before you have to fight alongside them.”

“I should, shouldn't I?” He sighed. “I'll see what Dr. Banner has figured out about this weapon so far. Maybe I will even understand it if I ask him to explain it to me. He seems like a nice guy.”

“Good. And Steve? Take care of yourself!”

“I will.”

With that he hung up and Winifred was left on her own to imagine what he was up to wherever he was right now.

 

 

A few days later Winifred was sitting in front of her mirror and put the last of the hairpins into her hair when someone knocked on the door.

“Come in,” she called and turned around.

Mrs Ainsley stuck her head through the doorway.

“Mrs. Barnes, your grand-daughter is here to pick you up.”

“Thank you, tell her I'll be down in a minute.”

She wasn't sure which of her grandchildren Mrs Ainsley referred to. Robert didn't know who would get her when she had last talked to him. Only that someone would come and drive with her to their family reunion. (Since when they had family reunions, she didn't know. And in Manhattan, no less! She didn't like Manhattan, never had.)

Winifred took one last look in the mirror. Her hair was made up in a nice but simple hairstyle, combined with a very light make-up. She even wore the pearl earrings and silver necklace George had given her for their 40th wedding anniversary.

In the last couple of years she hadn't really bothered with such things. Not that she had been neglecting herself. No. She just hadn't really seen the point of it. Only recently she had made more of an effort. (If anyone asked, she would say, she just felt like it. But in reality, she had done it for Steve. Had tried to look more like her old self, the one he remembered, to make him feel more at home. To her own surprise she found that she liked it, too. Like she was getting some of her younger self back.)

Satisfied with what she saw, Winifred got up with the help of her new walking stick. She wasn't entirely sure how she should feel about that thing. There was no denying its use, but she felt older with it.

Never mind that now, she thought while getting her hat, there was enough time to think about the matter later on.

Before she put on her coat, she smoothed out the wrinkles in her blue dress and smiled. She liked that dress, always had. And she was a little proud of herself that it still fit.

Nodding to herself, she took her purse and locked the door behind her. After short consideration she went down the stairs instead of taking the elevator. Short walks and little exercise were good for her. At least, her doctors said so. And it was only one flight of stairs.

Her great-granddaughter Susanna was waiting for her in the lobby.

When she saw Winifred, she came over to her and gave her a short hug.

“Hi, Gran.”

“Hello, dear.”

“You look very nice. Got a new dress?”

Winifred grinned. “No, actually. I just felt like it.”

Susanna looked a bit confused, not getting what had been so funny about her question, but didn't ask any further. Just offered Winifred her arm to walk outside.

While they walked down the front steps Winifred said: “I'm glad you changed your hair back. That pink didn't suit you at all.”

Now it was Susanna's turn to laugh.

“Oh, Gran, that was years ago. I was in College, it was a phase.”

“Well, I'm still glad. Although I'm not so sure about that purple streaks.”

Susanna rolled her eyes and opened the door to the blue sedan parked in the drive way.

“I like them,” she said and Winifred could hear a hint of defiance in her voice. Obviously she wasn't the first to criticize Susanna's hair and knowing Sophie – Georgiana's daughter and Susanna's mother – Winifred could make a pretty good guess at what had happened between the two.And because she knew Susanna and Sophie were constantly at odds about, well, basically everything, not the least of which was Susanna's decision to quit College to become a Jazz singer in Chicago (Winifred had heard her sing one or two times. She was really good.), Winifred didn't want to upset her any further. So she got into the car and said: “As long as you're happy.”

Susanna seemed pleasantly surprised at her words.

“Thanks, Gran.”

She started the car and Winifred sighed. “So, do you know whose brilliant idea it was to have this little get-together in the middle of Manhattan?”

 

 

“Here we are, Gran,” Susanna said and stopped in front of a tall brownstone building.

“At least it looks nice from the outside,” Winifred said while she was getting out of the car. “Let's hope the inside is just as nice.”

Susanna wasn't really listening to her, Winifred noticed. Her great-granddaughter gave the keys to a valet while typing on her phone. Winifred sighed. What was it with people and their phones these days?

“Well, I don't know about you but I'm going in,” she said loudly and made her way over to the entrance, waving an eager hotel employee away who had rushed to her assistance.

Susanna came after her. “Sorry, Gran. I know you don't like cell phones.”

“It's not that I don't like them. I just think people give them too much of their attention.”

“I just had to check something real quick. My boyfriend was supposed to …” Susanna started explaining but was interrupted by a broad shouldered man.

“Sorry, I'm late, hon,” he said and kissed her on the cheek.

“No problem, we just got here.” Susanna turned to Winifred. “Gran, this is my boyfriend. Josh. Josh, that's my great-grandmother I told you about.”

Winifred watched as the young man before her straightened even more and extended his right hand to her. His hair was cut short and he had this look about him. She had seen it on George and her brothers when they had gotten back from the war.

“Joshua Harrison. It's an honor to meet you, ma'am,” he said with a hint of admiration and gratitude in his voice. It happened quite often when people found out whose mother she was. It was a bit unnerving. She was nothing special, just the mother of someone special. A hero who had died in service for his country. (And, oh, what wouldn't she give to change that? To have her son save and happy at home. Just one of many soldiers who had come back from the war and whose name meant nothing to the general public. She was proud of him, no doubt, but more than anything she wanted to have her son in her arms, not a commemorated war hero who people learned about in school.)

Nevertheless, she took Josh's hand. It wasn't his fault that she felt conflicted about Bucky's status in the public.

“Nice to meet you, too.”

“Josh is a lieutenant with the Marines,” Susanna informed her with no small amount of pride in her voice.

“Really? Well, thank you for your service, Lieutenant,” Winifred said and meant it.

They entered the building together and were immediately led to an elevator that would bring them up to their floor. Susanna told Josh excitedly about her last performance in a famous night club in Chicago. Winifred watched them closely. She knew that Susanna hadn't been interested in a long term relationship in the past. But the way she looked at Josh and how he looked back at her and beamed with pride when she described the reaction of the crowd gave Winifred the impression that these two had found each other.

The elevator dinged and the doors opened into a room already full with people, numerous tables and a large buffet full with enormous amounts of food.

“Grandma!” Robert came over to them and gave her a hug. “I was wondering where you were.”

“Traffic was terrible,” Winifred said and kissed him on the cheek. “It looks very nice,” she added, gesturing to the room in general.

“Yes, doesn't it? Barbara knows the manager, so they put extra effort into the decorations. And we got a discount on the food.”

“Very convenient. Is everyone here, then?”

“Almost. Anna and Stanley are on their way and Jason is picking up Dana, David and Daisy from the airport.”

Winifred nodded and suppressed a smile. Dana was the oldest of Georgiana's three daughters. When she had married David in 1976 there had been the occasional joke about their names: the two D's, D&D, Didi were only some of them. And then three years later their daughter had been born. And what did they name her? Daisy. Of all names they could have chosen, they settled for Daisy. Mostly, they were known as Triple D now. At least, their last name didn't start with a D.

“I didn't think Stanley would come.”

“He insisted. Said he was well enough for a little trip to New York and Anna didn't have the heart to deny him,” Robert explained, his eyes wandering over the room to check if everything was ready.

Anna was Rebecca's daughter and one year younger than Robert. Her husband Stanley sat in a wheelchair because of a bone disease and had been in and out of the hospital for the last three years.

Some waiter approached him and Robert said to Winifred: “Why don't you go and sit over there, Grandma? I'm sure, Barbara would love to keep you company.”

“I doubt that,” Winifred muttered under her breath while she went over to the arm chair in the corner.

 

 

In the next fifteen minutes Winifred observed the room and watched her family bustle around, greeting her and each other. Laughing and joking and casting glances at the buffet. She saw Beth, one of Anna's twin girls, sneak a muffin from the table. When she saw Winifred watching her she grinned and winked at her. Winifred smiled back. Beth always had a mischievous streak about her.

A voice to her left startled her out of her observations: “Mind if I sit here, Gran?”

She turned around. Kyle stood beside her and waited patiently for her answer.

“Of course. Sit down.”

“Thanks.” He pulled the chair from the table and sat down with a heavy sigh.

“You know, I love all of them but family is always a little exhausting, don't you think?”

Winifred nodded in agreement.

“But that's what they are there for, aren't they? So they can annoy us and we can gossip about them and make fun of them and they can't be mad because they are family and doing the exact same thing.”

Kyle laughed out loud. “Very nicely put, Gran.” He reached for a bottle of water.

“Want some?”

Only now Winifred realized how thirsty she was.

“Yes, thank you,” she said and took a gulp from her glass, almost choking on the ice cold water.

“How are you doing? Everything alright?” she asked Kyle when she had put down her glass and got her breath back.

“I get by,” he said, humble as ever and making Winifred snort.

“Don't pretend, Kyle. I read an article about you not two weeks ago. They are loving you.”

Kyle smiled at his lap. “Seems like it.”

“Well, I'm very proud of you,” Winifred assured him and patted his hands. “Your paintings are beautiful. Truly. A friend of mine thought so, too, when we went to see them.” Steve and her had gone to an exhibition and Steve had been very taken in by Kyle's paintings, his themes and technique. Winifred didn't know much about art herself, but she had always liked Kyle's paintings and she trusted Steve's judgment.

“Is your mother here? I haven't seen her.” Just when she had asked, a brown haired woman in a yellow dress came over to them.

“There you are, pumpkin. I've been looking for you,” Maggie, Georgiana's youngest daughter and Kyle's mother, said and gave her son a hug and a kiss before turning to Winifred to greet her, too.

Maggie and Kyle always had a special bond. Only eighteen years and not married, it had been quite a scandal in their family when Maggie had gotten pregnant. The father had taken off as soon as he had heard about the pregnancy and they hadn't heard from him since. Winifred didn't think Kyle missed the father he had never known anyway. And Maggie certainly didn't after she had gotten over the initial heart-break. She and Kyle had always been enough for each other. Maggie had evolved from a timid girl into a resolute woman who had defended her son against anyone and anything. Even her own family when they had said she was too young to raise a child on her own.

At the time, Winifred had only once stated her opinion on the matter, siding with Maggie but ultimately feeling that the girl had had to fight her own battle. She had assured her of her support and also told her that it wouldn't be easy but that she could do it.

In the background, a band started to play some sort of music Winifred didn't recognize. Winifred contemplated taking a nap when she saw Robert getting up, coughing loudly to get everyone's attention. It took a few minutes before the room was silent.

“First of all, thank you for coming today. I know, everyone is busy and has things to do, so I think, I speak for everyone when I say we appreciate that you all took some time off for the family. Or, at the very least, for the free food.”

Laughter filled the room.

 

 

Winifred sat in her comfy armchair and watched the people, her family, flutter around in this large room high up in a building with a breath taking view of New York's skyline.

The food had been cleared off the tables half an hour ago and now everyone was circling around the room, chatting with each other and getting updated on the latest events in their lives.

At the table to Winifred's left Jason's wife Macy was chatting with Chloe, Beth's twin sister, and Sophie about being a mother and how time consuming it was. Winifred suppressed a snort. Macy had one child, her mother lived close by and was willing to babysit at any time, and she had enough money to pay for a nanny. Currently, little Jonas was sitting on his aunt's knees, happily playing with her hair.

“He is so cute,” Lacy said and tickled her nephew. (Winifred had never met the girl before, only heard about her a few times. She wasn't sure why she was at their family reunion. If she had to guess, she would say to look after Jonas.)

“I can't wait to have kids!”

Macy looked horrified at her sister.

“You're sixteen! You shouldn't even think about that!”

Sophie nodded in agreement. “Your sister is right. You should finish your education first and get a job.”

And for some unfathomable reason Sophie turned to Winifred and said: “Don't you agree, Grandma?”

Winifred couldn't help the chuckle escaping her.

“Well, I don't know if you should talk to me of all people,” she said. “I got pregnant at 16. And I wasn't even married then.”

Of course, George had married her as soon as she had told him. But he had been a decent man and had loved her very much. She could very easily have ended up alone with a baby and no money, shunned by society, if she had fallen in love with a less honorable man. To this day, she remembered how devastated and nervous she had been about telling George about her pregnancy.

_Winifred sat on her bed in her tiny bedroom and cried into her pillow. This couldn't be happening. How could she be pregnant? She had only been with George that one time. That wasn't enough to get her pregnant, right? There were couples, who were married for years, and had no children. Like Mr and Mrs Jones from the grocery store. Or the butcher and his wife, the Petersens. So, surely, Winifred wasn't expecting a child. Her body was just playing tricks. She tried to tell herself that. For weeks, she had tried to convince her brain to believe this. But in her heart, she knew. She knew there was a new life growing inside her. She could feel it. And with every passing day, that feeling grew stronger and stronger._

_She had to tell George. And her parents._

_But what if he didn't want her? If he went away and left her here?_

_Her Dad would be so mad and her mother so ashamed of her daughter._

_A fresh wave of tears rolled down her face. Winifred hugged the pillow tighter to her chest, rocking back and forth. She was so scared, she didn't know what to do!_

_There was a short knock at her door before it opened and James stuck his head through._

“ _Winnie, Ma said to come down to help with …”_

_Her older brother interrupted himself when he saw her puffy eyes._

_Immediately, his face darkened and he closed the door behind him before sitting down beside her._

“ _Tell me what happened! Who hurt you?”_

“ _No … no one,” she hiccuped._

“ _Don't lie to me, Win. You have to tell me what …”_

_He interrupted himself and grabbed Winfred by the shoulders, forcing her to look at him. His eyes had darkened even more._

“ _Was it George? Did he … do something to you?” he whispered, a dangerous edge to his voice._

“ _NO!” Winifred shook her head. “He didn't do anything! I promise, Jimmy. Nothing happened. Nothing that I didn't want, too,” she added in a silent whisper. But James had heard her anyway. His eyes narrowed for a moment before they widened in comprehension._

“ _Oh, Winnie, what did you do?” he asked and pulled her into his arms._

_Winifred cried into his big strong shoulder._

“ _I'm sorry. I didn't mean to … We were just … and then … and I didn't think …”_

“ _Shhh, it's okay. Everything's gonna be alright.”_

_They sat like that for a long time, Winifred crying her heart out and James holding her and whispering reassurances._

“ _Winifred Rosemary Miller!” her mother screamed from downstairs. “If you're not down her in the next two minutes …”_

_Winifred winced and shot up from the bed._

“ _I … I will be down in a minute, Ma,” Winifred yelled back while rubbing at her face with her sleeve._

“ _Win, you have to tell them,” James said while he watched his sister bustle around the room._

“ _I know, I know. I just …” She turned back to her brother, begging him with her eyes to understand. “I have to tell George first.” She sat down again and took his hand. “You won't give me away, right?”_

_James shook his head and pinched her arm, grinning._

“ _Course not. But don't wait too long.”_

 

_It took Winifred a couple more days to find the courage but eventually she went into the stable were George was mucking out Bessy's and Cindy's box, their two Suffolk horses who were currently plowing the field down by the river with Winifred's father and brothers._

_Winifred sat down on the bale of straw in front of the box and watched George while he worked. He hadn't seen her yet, concentrating on the task before him. His dark hair fell into his eyes every time he bent over the pitchfork and every time he brushed it away with the back of his hand, unknowingly leaving dark smudges all over his face. Winifred smiled, her heart beating faster in her chest. She loved him. Simple as that. And she was carrying his child under her heart._

_At last, he noticed her._

_With a beaming smile, he said: “Didn't see you come in. How long have you been sitting there?”_

“ _Not long. Few minutes, maybe.”_

_Winifred took a deep breath, her heart beating hard against her ribs for an entirely different reason than before. She had to tell him. Now! She opened her mouth and … not a sound came out. She was so scared! What if he left? If he didn't love her like he said he did? If he didn't want a child and would just leave? He could. He wasn't from around here. Was just traveling around, staying were he found work. Five month ago, he had appeared on their farm, asking for work in exchange for board and lodging. Normally, her father didn't take on extra help. Winifred's three brothers were enough to manage the farm, but Jack had broken his leg just days before so her father had agreed. And because George was a good worker, an amiable young man and not asking for much he had stayed on even after Jack's leg had healed. In the following months, when Winifred had brought lunch out to the field, in the evening when the work was done, at Sundays after church, they had gotten to know each other better and better. Winifred had slowly but steadily fallen in love with him and to her delight and surprise, he returned her feelings. (She had no illusion about her looks. She was by no means ugly, but not very pretty either. Just average. Even if George vehemently disagreed.) And now she might lose him._

_When she didn't say anything, George came over to her, his forehead creased in worried lines._

“ _What's wrong, love?” he asked, crouched down in front of her and took her face into his hands._

_She looked into his blue eyes, full of love and trust. (She didn't know it at the time, but their son would inherit those beautiful eyes.)_

“ _I … We … we are having a baby,” she finally whispered._

_Surprise washed over his face and his mouth dropped open._

_He sat back on his heels and stared at her with an expression on his face she couldn't read._

_And then, after what felt like an eternity, he sprang to his feet. In the first horrible seconds she thought he would ran away. Instead, he lifted her up into his arms, spinning her around and laughing like a child._

“ _That's wonderful! So wonderful, my beautiful moon-flower!”_

_Winifred laughed out loud. Relieve flooded through every fiber of her being._

“ _George! I'm getting dizzy!”_

_Immediately, he sat her down and covered her face with kisses._

“ _You have no idea how happy you make me. I love you so much, my moon-flower,” he said, his voice so full of joy that she could practically feel it radiating off him. His happiness was catching and for the first time Winifred felt all her worries fall away from her._

_Suddenly, George dropped to his knees and stared up at her like she was the most beautiful and precious thing he had ever seen._

“ _Will you marry me, Winifred? I know, I don't have much to offer but I promise, I will devote every second of my life to your happiness. And the little one's, too, of course. I love you so much. So, will you marry me?”_

_Winifred couldn't help the joyful laugh that escaped her. That he even had to ask!_

“ _Of course I will marry you, silly!” she said, her eyes filled with tears of joy._

Winifred smiled fondly at the memory. It still warmed her heart how happy George had been. Of course, there had still been some obstacles to overcome. Telling her parents, for example. Her Daddy had been so mad and had nearly shot George on the spot. He might have had if James and Matt hadn't stopped him. It had taken three hours of talking, screaming and crying and George's constant promises that he would marry Winifred as soon as possible. In the end, her father had grudgingly welcomed George into the family and they had married the next month.

“I had no idea, Gran,” Chloe interrupted the silence and surprised glances between the women at the table. Winifred hadn't noticed anything of that while she had been lost in her memories.

“So, you only married Grandpa because you were pregnant?” Sophie asked, a little devastated at this news. Winifred smiled and patted her hand. Sophie had adored her grandfather. And even if she had been only a little girl when George had died, she kept his memory close to her heart and had named her oldest son after George.

“Of course not, my dear. Your grandfather loved me very much and he was so happy about becoming a father. We may have had to marry in a rush, but he always intended to marry me.”

Sophie visibly relaxed, her view of the world restored once more.

 

 

Winifred stood up from her chair and went over to the window. She needed to stretch her legs for a moment. Looking outside, she watched the bustle down at the street. What a peculiar feeling to be so high up that everything shrank to the height of toys.

Her contemplations were interrupted by tiny hands that crashed against the glass beside her knees.

A tiny voice squealed in delight: “So high up! Like birds! And clouds! And planes! Look, Granny!”

Winifred smiled at the pure joy of the small boy beside her.

Before she could say something, Henry, Georgiana's grandson and Sophie's son, appeared beside her and scooped his son into his arms.

“Danny, don't run away from me like that, okay?” He glanced at Winifred. “Sorry, Gran.”

Winifred shook her head. “Don't be. It's nice to see so much joy.”

Danny, who hadn't listened to a word of his father, was still enthralled by the outside world and babbled happily about everything he found interesting.

Henry smiled at her before he concentrated on his son and admired a helicopter that hurtled through the air a few feet over their heads.

A commotion at the other side of the room drew their attention away from the window.

“Cake!” Danny screamed excited when he saw the waiters carrying in trays filled with cake and biscuits.

He wiggled in his father's arms until he set him down and raced trough the room.

“Be careful!” Henry called after him before he sat down on a nearby chair with a sigh.

Winifred sat down beside him and patted his hand.

“You look tired, my boy.”

“Do I?” Henry laughed, then sighed again and rubbed a hand over his face.

“Well, I guess, I am. I love Danny with all my heart, really, but … it's just hard. Sometimes.”

Winifred could well imagine that. Danny was born with … what was it again? Winifred always forgot the right term. They hadn't had a word for it, back in her time. Not right in the head, that had been the common way to describe them.

Down syndrome! That's what it was called.

Danny had down syndrome. Henry and his wife, Jenna, had been shocked as well as everyone else in the family. In the beginning, at least. After some time, when things had settled down a bit, everyone had grown to love this bundle of sunshine. Especially Henry was very proud of his little boy. He and Jenna had bought a small house in New Jersey with a garden and surrounded by trees. Winifred had immediately liked it the first time she had visited.

The little family had adjusted to their situation and seemed to be happy.

Until two years ago when Jenna had suddenly decided she couldn't do this anymore and had left Henry and Danny. She lived in LA now, as far as Winifred knew, and Henry had full custody of Danny and no contact with his wife.

“I mean, Mom and Dad help me a lot. And I'm on desk duty, so that makes everything easier, too.” Henry was a police officer and as soon as he knew he was becoming a father he had put in a transfer request.

“But in the end it's just me. And Danny has so much energy. Which is great, really. But it's hard to keep up with him at times, you know, and there are some people who are just …” He started to ramble and his voice had taken on a defensive note, so Winifred placed a hand on his arm.

“Henry, you don't have to explain yourself to me. Being a working single parent is always hard, even if your child doesn't have a disability. And don't listen to what other people say. You're doing great.”

Henry looked at her, then shook his head.

“You know, Gran, you never cease to amaze me. In your age, one would assume you're the most prejudiced, given the time you grew up in. But no. You're so understanding and open minded about Danny. Even right after he was born you just said how beautiful he is. And I guess, what I really want to say is: Thanks, Gran.”

Touched by his words, Winifred squeezed his hand.

“Thank you, my dear.”

They watched Danny crawling underneath the chairs and giggling when people startled upon his sudden appearance.

After a while Winifred said: “You know, your Grandpa George had a brother who was like Danny.”

“What?” Henry stared at her in surprise. “Really?”

“Yes. His name was Joe. Joey. He was two years older than George. I only met him a couple of times. He was such a sweet man, even if most people weren't very nice to him. It was a different time. Normally, when a child was born like that they were locked up in some hospital or at least kept at home and separated from society. Not Joey, though. He and George grew up with their grandfather and when Joey was older he helped their Granddad in his shop. He was a baker and Joey helped with the baking, swept and cleaned the shop and delivered packages and things.”

A picture of Joey Barnes appeared before her eyes: laughing and singing songs he had heard in the radio, covered in flour and a round white cap on his head. George had loved his brother very much and had been devastated by his death in the mid-twenties. His Granddad,  Buchanan Barnes, had died a few months later. Peacefully and in his sleep with the certain knowledge that the grandson, who had needed him the most, was waiting for him on the other side and that the other had a family of his own and wouldn't be left alone in the world when he was gone. 

Danny came running back, hugged his father's legs and placed his head on his knees. Henry grinned and tickled his son, who started laughing and gasping for breath.

And suddenly there was a loud crackling sound from outside. Everyone turned around in confusion to look out the window. Winifred frowned when she saw the huge light beam coming from Stark Tower.

“What the hell is going on over there?” George voiced all their thoughts just as a hole ripped into the clear blue sky. Swarms of spaceships flew out from god knows where, filling the air with fire and explosions. Wreckage fell to the ground, hitting people, cars and buildings. Seconds after that the spaceships were flying through the streets, shooting at everything that moved. Dust filled the air, making it impossible to see what exactly was happening. Between the crashes and explosions screams could be heard of anyone who wasn't fast enough to take cover.

There was barely time to take all of this in when chaos erupted around Winifred.

Some were running to the elevator while others huddled into a corner. Someone shouted. A table was knocked over. Danny started crying beside her, confused and scared of the battle outside. Henry held him close to his body and whispered reassurances into his ear.

George ran over to them. He grabbed his brother by the arm and pulled him up.

“Come on, we need to get out of here. You too, Gran.”

“Yes, of course,” Winifred mumbled and got to her feet. She was still stunned at what was happening. If she hadn't talked to Steve and heard him talk about armies and aliens from space, she wouldn't have believed what was happening now right before her eyes. Leaning on her cane, she followed the two brothers to the other side of the room, away from the window.

Another loud explosion sent them all screaming to the ground. The aliens had jumped through the windows of the opposite building. The streets below were engulfed in flames, blue lasers and gunfire mowing down everything and everyone.

Winifred felt fear grip at her heart. Paralyzing, cold fear. Many times in the past years had she wanted to die, had wished for death to find her at last. But not like this, not now!

“Everyone, stay calm!” A loud voice boomed through the room, silencing them all.

Josh had climbed on a table to get their attention. His face was hard, his eyes focused and determined and his voice allowed no objection. This was a man who had seen war, who had experienced violence and death, who knew what to do and who was used to leading. Winifred was eternally grateful to Susanna for bring her boyfriend to their family reunion.

“We need to get out!” Jason called angrily from the elevator. “Now!”

“Yes, but not in a panic and not out there,” Josh said and pointed to the window. Winifred couldn't help but agree with him. It was war out there. They had a better chance at survival by staying inside.

“We would be running straight into the line of fire,” Josh continued. “And taking the elevators is out of the question. The electricity fails and we are stuck in there. The stairs are just at the other end of the room. Get over there as fast as you can and stay as far away from the windows as possible!”

The last part of his words were nearly drowned out by the noise from outside. More and more aliens landed on the ground, lightning crackled through the air and for a blink Winifred thought she saw a blond guy in a red cape flew by. The next second a giant space monster, larger and scarier than anything she had ever seen, flew through the streets. They all ducked to the ground and under the tables, taking cover were they could find it. Winifred heard whimpering beside her and tucked Sophie under her arm.

“It's alright. Don't be afraid,” she whispered into her granddaughter's ear, not able to locate the source of the calmness that came over her. Her family needed her. It wouldn't do to panic or collapse, she had to be strong. Like she always had been.

Susanna crawled over to them. “Are you alright?”

“We're fine,” Winifred answered for the both of them. “But not for long if we stay here.”

Together, they started to make their way along the walls. The door to the stairs seemed so far away.

Every now and then, Winifred glanced around, making sure everyone was still safe and on the move. She could see Jason with his little family, white faced and scared, hidden behind an overturned table. His siblings, Justin and Annabelle, were with him and Robert and Barbara only a few feet away from them. Beth and Chloe were with Maggie and Kyle and had nearly reached the door while George, his wife Paula and Henry with Danny in his arms were still by the elevator. Dana and David helped Anna with Stanley in his wheelchair while Daisy clutched a first-aid kit to her chest, her small face twisted in fear.

Josh was encouraging them all to hurry up while at the same time keeping an eye on the windows. As far as Winifred could see no one was near them. Good. They would make it all out of here alive. They had to!

More explosions, flashes of light and shock waves outside drew their attention and Winifred once again had to fight down her fear. It seemed like an eternity when everyone was gathering at the door. Just when David had wrenched it open and prevented it from falling shut with a piece of wood from one of the chairs a loud crash ripped through the air, much louder than the ones before. Glass splintered and a body landed hard on the ground. Screams and cries filled the room and Winifred thought this was the moment she was going to die. The moment she would see her lost loved ones again. And then she realized that it was by no means an alien that had crashed through the window to slaughter them all. Instead, a man clad in leather and with a bow in his hand lay groaning on the floor before he rolled into a crouch and onto his feet. Only then did he register the group of people in the corner.

A couple of seconds they blinked all in surprise at each other before the man yelled angrily: “What the hell are you still doing here? Didn't you see what's going on out there? Get out!”

Winifred huffed. “What does it look like what we are doing, young man?” she snapped at him. She would have given him a piece of her mind if the situation had been different. Hopefully, she would get that chance later on and could teach him some manners about dealing with people in emotionally stressful situations. (And what on earth was the bow for? The old saying of bringing a knife to a gun fight came to her mind.)

Another explosion reminded them all of the danger they were still in. The rest of the windows blew into a million tiny pieces by the shock wave. The man came running over to them covering his face with his arms from the spray of broken glass. (His bare arms were cut instead and Winifred wondered for a brief moment who had put together his uniform.)

Then, there was no more time to wonder about anything for in just that moment an alien jumped in and started shooting. Screaming, they threw themselves forward and Winifred heard someone tumble down the stairs and the crack of a broken bone a few feet away from her. Josh threw a table into the air just in time so that the laser from the alien didn't hit Susanna. The table was pulverized in an instant.

“Go, go, go!” screamed the man with the bow and used that archaic weapon to ram it into the alien. Out of nowhere, he drew a knife and decapitated the hideous thing. That was the last Winifred saw before she stumbled out of the room and down the stairs, being held upright by Beth at her side.

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading and please let me know what you think.  
> It was really difficult for me to introduce all the members of Winifred's family without it getting too confusing. If it's still too confusing, tell me and I'll try to fix it or create a family tree or something.  
> The last part, where the battle starts, is the one I'm not so happy with. I tried to tie in the battle from the movie as best as I could, which was harder than I thought. So let me know what you think about it; if it's too boring or not enough detail or whatever.
> 
> Thanks again for reading! :)


	8. Family Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone,  
> finally found the time to post Winifred's family tree. If you're not interested in that or had no trouble in the previous chapter to tell all of her family apart, you can just skip this and start reading the next chapter. :) For everyone who is interested in the family tree, I hope this is helpful.
> 
> Anyway, thank you to everyone for reading and/or leaving kudos so far! I'm really happy you like my story! :)  
> To silmarlfan1: Thank you for your comment! :) Hope you enjoy the new chapter.
> 
> To GingerPebble: Thank you for your comment and your feedback on the family tree! :) I hope this is helpful.  
> I'm so glad you like Winifred. I'm not sure if she doesn't come off as too harsh or snarky sometimes, so it really helps me to know that she is liked. :) :)
> 
> To Kiki: Thanks for your comment! :) I'm so happy you like Winifred and she didn't live this long for her to die before Bucky comes back. ;)
> 
> To GemlhKnight: Thank you for your comment! I'll try to work on my grammar and diction. :) Hope you enjoy the new chapter! :)
> 
> To quietlikeastorm: Thank you so much for your comment!! Made my day to read it. :) I'm happy you like Winifred. I sometimes have my problems writing her and wonder if she doesn't come off as too harsh, so thanks for reassuring me that she is fine. :)   
> To be honest, I didn't like her family myself in the beginning, because I had planned for them to be kind of neglecting her and busy with their own lives, but they somehow wormed their way into the story and now I'm really fond of them, so I'm really happy you like them. :)  
> I'm really excited for Bucky to finally come into the story, too, and I have already a lot of ideas what's gonna happen.  
> Hope you like the new chapter! :)

**Family Tree**

  
Names with * have some additional information below.

Buchanan Barnes 1847-1924

|

Jacob 1870-1904

oo

Margret 1875-1902

|

Joe (Joey) 1895-1924

George 1897-1960

| 

Frank Miller 1872-1934

oo

Dorothy 1875-1950

|

Matt* 1894-1968

James* 1896-1921

Jack* 1898-1918

Winifred 1900  
  
---|---  
  
George oo Winifred

James Buchanan (Bucky)

1917

| 

Margret

1920 -1955

| 

Georgiana* 1923-2002

oo

Daniel 1920-1998

 

3 daughters

| 

Rebecca* 1925-2010

oo

Harold 1921-2009

 

1 son, 1 daughter  
  
---|---|---|---  
  
 

| 

 

| 

Dana 1951 oo David 1947

Daisy 1979

 

Sophie 1954 oo Richard 1950

George* 1976 oo Paula

Henry* 1977

Danny

Susanna* 1980

 

Maggie 1955

Kyle* 1973

 

| 

Robert 1954 oo Barbara 1956

Jason* 1978 oo Macy

Jonas

Annabelle* 1981 oo Mike

Kira

Justin* 1985

 

Anna 1955 oo Stanley 1953

Beth* 1980

Chloe* 1980

   
  
**Biographies**

 

Winifred and George stayed on her parents' farm for a couple of years before they moved to New York in 1922.

 

Winifred's brothers:

Matt:

took over the farm from their parents

had three children and several grand-children

died peacefully in his sleep

good relationship with his sister although they didn't see each other much in later years

James:

Winifred's favorite brother and the one she was closest to

badly injured in World War I

lived on his parents' farm after the war

traumatized by his war experiences and didn't really talk to anyone anymore but enjoyed spending time with Bucky

Jack:

died in the  Battle of Belleau Wood in June 1918

 

Winifred's children:

Georgiana:

worked as a nurse, met her husband in 1946 in a hospital

Rebecca:

secretary for a newspaper, her husband worked for the Intelligence Service during the war

 

Winifred's great-grandchildren:

George:

paramedic in New York, met his wife, a doctor, at work

Henry:

divorced, full custody of his 5 year old son, police officer in New Jersey

Susanna:

Jazz/Soul singer in Chicago

 

Kyle:

famous artist, asexual, silent type, New York

 

Jason:

business company, Philadelphia

Annabelle:

lawyer

Justin:

studies at MIT

 

Beth:

photographer

Chloe:

elementary school teacher

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope the family tree was helpful and/or interesting.  
> I will probably add more information on the different characters, when I think of some more and they are not included in the story.


	9. Chapter 7: New Beginnings

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And here is the new chapter.  
> I really hope you all like it. I had some trouble writing it and still not entirely happy with how it turned out (except the ending, I'm really excited about the ending), but I didn't want to keep you waiting.
> 
> So enjoy, and let me know what you think!
> 
> Oh, warning for a (minor) panic attack. If that's an issue for you, just skip the second paragraph.

**Chapter 7: New Beginnings**

 

When asked later, Winifred couldn't say how they all had made it down from the top floor to the lobby. Her memories were hazy, at best. The worry for her family and the fear of being killed had taken its toll on her and she didn't remember making it down the stairs. Exhaustion catching up with her, she had sunk down in a chair as soon as she had heard someone's reassurances that they were all save now. She must have blacked out at some point, too, because the next thing she knew, the face of a paramedic hovered over her, shoving a bright light into her eyes,

“Ma'am, can you hear me? How are you feeling?”

Winifred blinked a few times and grumbled: “A lot better if you stopped blinding me with that thing.”

The man didn't seem fazed by her unfriendly tone but he put the light away.

“Can you tell me your name and were you are?”

“Of course I can. I'm old and exhausted, not demented.”

When he just looked at her unimpressed, she sighed and said:

“My name is Winifred Barnes and I'm in New York for my family reunion, which was interrupted rather dramatically by an alien attack. So given the circumstances, I think it's understandable if I'm a bit wobbly on my feet, don't you think? Now, I would really appreciated it if you could let me know what happened to the rest of my family.”

Before the paramedic had the time to answer her request, someone called out to her. Winifred searched the crowd outside of the ambulance for a familiar face.

A few feet away Beth elbowed her way through a group of people. She reached the ambulance slightly out of breath, climbing over various pieces of rubble.

“Gran, how are you? Are you alright?”

Winifred waved her hand dismissively.

“Yes, yes, I'm fine. What about you? And the others?”

Beth climbed in and sat beside her, still catching her breath.

“Everyone is fine. More or less. A few scraps and bruises. Uncle Robert busted his ankle and Jason has a huge cut on his forehead. It's bleeding pretty badly, but George is taking care of him.”

Winifred sighed in relief. Everyone was fine or would be. No one had died. She wouldn't have to bury one of her family members again. (If anyone was going to die next, it would be her!)

“If you're really feeling fine, then you can go,” the paramedic interrupted her thoughts. He turned to Beth. “But I want you to stay with her.”

“I will,” Beth promised. “Come on, Gran.”

She took Winifred's arm and helped her out on the street.

Winifred thanked the paramedic and took a few tentative steps before walking with Beth to the other side of the street. There, she sat down on a piece of rubble with a sigh. She might be unhurt and physically fine, but the whole ordeal had still taken its toll on her and she was glad she could sit down without anyone fuzzing over her.

Beth still hovered near by, not leaving her side, following the order of the paramedic.

Winifred was grateful and touched by her great-granddaughter's worry. She really was. But above all else she wanted a few minutes to herself.

So she coughed and said: “Beth, my dear, could you do me a favor and get me some water? My mouth feels like sandpaper.”

“Of course, Gran. Be right back.”

And off she went. Winifred followed her with her eyes until she couldn't see her anymore. Only then did she allow herself to slump down a bit. She felt all the events of the past hours weighing heavily on her. How close they all had come to dying, how close she had come to lose her whole family. Maybe she had fallen a bit out of touch with them over the last few years, feeling her age as a burden that had made her bitter and grumpy, but she still loved her family with all her heart. Including all their faults and short-comings. And the thought of losing any one of them, being the surviving one again, left her with a cold sweat and a racing heart.

No! She couldn't, she wouldn't think like that! They had all survived. There was no need to fall into despair over something that hadn't happened.

Forcing her thoughts away from her dark musings, she focused instead on the city surrounding her. Buildings were still burning, the streets were blocked by rubble and overturned cars. People were covered in dust, paramedics and doctors were taking care of the injured, police officers and firemen helped the victims out of the damaged buildings.

“Here you go, Gran,” Beth said, handing her a bottle of water.

“Thank you.”

Winifred opened the bottle with some difficulties, glad that her hands weren't shaking, and took a few gulps before setting it down again. Sweeping some dust of her dress, she noticed with some regret that the frock had a hole burned into it.

“Well, it's just a piece of clothing, anyway,” she mumbled under her breath.

“Did you say something...” Beth started, but interrupted herself and grabbed Winifred's arm in shock. “Oh my god, is that Captain America?!”

Startled, Winifred looked over to where Beth was staring and sure enough, there was Steve in his distinctive stars and stripes uniform, his shield at his arm. He was talking to a couple of firemen, gesturing wildly to the building in front of him. Even from here she could see the confidence and purpose he exuded.

Before Winifred could make up her mind about calling him over, he had finished his conversation and made his way down the street, coming right their way.

Beth's grip on her arm tightened and she opened her mouth a couple of times with no sound coming out. Winifred remembered the crush Beth had had as a little girl on Steve. Or rather Captain America. Her whole room had been covered in pictures of him and she had been bouncing with excitement when she had learned that her Gran had known Captain America back in the day.

Winifred chuckled slightly at the memory of little Beth begging her for stories about him.

“Don't forget to breath, dear,” she said and patted her great-granddaughter's hand.

Steve was now only a couple of feet away and he still hadn't noticed her, too focused on the tasks at hand: helping the people who were hurt, bringing order to the chaos.

Maybe he would have walked passed them, if Beth hadn't jumped to her feet and started to ramble: “I can't believe it! I always wanted to meet you. I'm a huge fan! I mean … sorry … I didn't … you have other things to do … sorry … I just wanted to say: thank you. For saving us today, I mean.”

Steve stopped short in his tracks and looked at her with a confused expression on his face.

A couple of seconds ticked by before he managed to say: “Thanks, I guess. I …”

Only then did he notice Winifred sitting beside Beth and his eyes widened in shock.

“Winifred! What are you doing here?” He dropped to his knees to get to her eye level, forgetting all about Beth.

“Oh god! You were here while the... the Chitauri...You are not hurt, are you?” His eyes searched frantically over her body, looking for any indication of an injury.

“Steve,” Winifred said with a soothing voice she had always used to calm down her children after a nightmare and took his hands into hers.

“I'm fine. Don't worry. Everything is fine. We had our family reunion when those things attacked. But none of us were seriously hurt. And I'm just a little exhausted.”

Steve nodded, the fear not entirely leaving his eyes just yet.

“I forgot that was today …” he mumbled. “Or I would have … I should have …”

Winifred smiled and squeezed his hands.

“Everything is fine, Steve. Now, I'm sure you have more important things to do at the moment. Don't worry about me.”

Steve nodded once more before he got up on his feet again.

“I will come visit you as soon as I can. Tomorrow,” he promised.

She looked into his eyes, full of so many emotions, and smiled at him.

“I'm looking forward to it.”

She and Beth watched him walk over to a bus that was blocking the street and helping the people that were stuck in it out.

 

 

Steve busied himself with helping the people that needed it and pushed his emotions into the farthest corner of his mind. Functioning on autopilot, he helped a woman over to the paramedics, freed a boy and his father trapped between pieces of rubble, wrenched open the door of a car to get the couple in there out and rescued a cat from a burning dumpster.

He cradled the trembling animal to his chest and murmured softly into its ear: “It's okay. You're safe now. I promise. No one will harm you.”

And just like that everything came crushing down on him. He felt his legs go weak and he slid down against the dirty alley wall, the dumpster hiding him from view. He let go of the cat and pressed his hands into his eye sockets.

He started trembling and his breath caught in his throat, reminding him of a time long ago when his body had been frail and threatening to fail him every day.

He tried to calm himself down, to tell himself that everything was fine. But it didn't work. The pressure just kept building and building. He didn't know why it hit him so hard: the fighting, the explosions, the destruction, the dead bodies. It all brought up memories he had thought he had buried deep inside of him. But all of a sudden, they were dragged into daylight. And he couldn't take it. Couldn't take the memories of the war, of seeing good men die, of his friends being hurt in their fight against Hydra. The memory of Bucky's scream pierced through his brain and mixed with all the noise of the battle today. It was too much. It was all too much.

Tears filled his eyes and Steve started sobbing, his face buried in his hands. His lungs still refused to function properly, leaving him gasping for air.

“ _Just breath, Stevie. Breath for me, okay? In and out. I'm here. It's okay.”_

Bucky's voice whispered in his ear. Calming and soothing, a memory from a lifetime ago. And it still helped seventy years later. Steve felt his mind calm down, the pressure inside him subsiding. He took a few more deep breaths and leaned his head against the brick wall behind him. In and out. In and out. Just breathing for a couple more minutes and the last remains of the crushing pressure left his body.

There had been no time to take a step back and think during the battle itself and Steve allowed himself to do that now. Everything was fine. Well, not everything. People had died. But they had saved so many more and had defeated Loki and his Chitauri army. His mind wandered, landing on Winifred at last.

Seeing her sitting there among the chaos, ruffled and a little worth for wear but otherwise fine, had shocked him more than anything else he had seen today. He had thought her save in her home, far away from all the fighting when in reality she had been right in the middle of it. What would he have done if anything had happened to her? If she had died? He would never have forgiven himself. She had become so important to him. A grounding presence, the one constant he could count on. He couldn't lose her.

With a new conviction he got up from the ground. He hadn't been able to protect her today, but he would be damned if he let anything else happen to her. Not when he could do something about it.

He stepped out of the alley and nearly collided with Tony.

“Capsicle! There you are!” the billionaire said and clapped him on the back. “Been looking all over for you. We had a shawarma date, remember? The others are already there and if we don't hurry Thor will probably eat the joint empty and I deserve something nice what with everything I have done. So chop-chop, Captain.”

With a shake of his head and half a smile Steve followed him down the street.

 

 

Winifred sat in the common room and watched the news. Her hands were clenched in fists of rage as she heard Senator Boynton talk.

“These so-called heroes have to be held responsible for the destruction made to the city. This was their fight. Where are they now?”

How dare he? The Avengers had saved them all! Without them, who knew how many more people would have perished. And blaming them for the destruction? Unbelievable! Those monsters had destroyed the city. How anyone could think otherwise was beyond her.

Before she could form words fitting to her outrage, a loud voice carried through the room: “This good-for-nothing piece of shit! Who does he think he his? He probably cowered behind his desk while they risked their lives for us!”

Surprised, Winifred turned around to see who felt as strongly as she did over this. She hadn't realized anyone beside her had even been paying attention to the TV playing in the corner.

Scanning the room, she spotted three men in the chairs by the window front. Winifred had seen them before, but hadn't actually talked to them. They were relatively new, arriving together just a few weeks back and although not unfriendly or unsocial toward the other residents, they kept mostly to themselves. As was her habit, Winifred hadn't taken any extra effort in getting to know them but now she was curious. Getting up with the help of her cane, which she had to rely on more and more since the ordeal with the aliens, she made her way over to them.

“Keep your voice down, Artie, or that old hag will tell you off again.”

“What do I care? I'm old and can say what I want.”

“Yeah, well, don't come crying to me when you don't get dessert. Again.”

Winifred smirked at the exchange between the three friends.

“I wouldn't worry too much about that,” she said while stepping closer. “Zelda never eats her's and is always glad to trade.”

Startled, they turned around to her.

“Sorry for eavesdropping,” Winifred apologized before they had the chance to say something, because her mother had raised her right. “I heard what you said about that sorry excuse of a senator and only came over to tell you how right you are.”

The one who had shouted – Artie – grinned at his friends.

“Would you look at that? See, Phil. We would never have met this lovely young lady today if I had kept my mouth shut.”

At that, Winifred laughed out loud. Young lady? Hardly. She would bet everything she owned that she surpassed them by several years. None of them looked older than eighty.

“I haven't been young for a very long time, but thank you for the compliment.”

Artie lifted an imaginary hat and took a bow.

“You're very welcome. But where are my manners? Please, sit.” He pulled a chair back and Winifred sat down with a grateful smile.

“My name is Arthur Jones and these two are my pain-in-the-ass friends Philip Smith”, he indicated to the one who had reprimanded him for shouting. Philip nodded at her with a grin.

“And Albert Gaines.” The third of the three smiled at her and leaned forward in his wheelchair to shake her hand.

“Pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise,” Winifred said. “I'm Winifred. Winifred Barnes.”

She noticed the slight widening of their eyes and the quick glances they shot each other. There seemed to be a silent conversation going on and Winifred waited for them to make a decision who would ask the question she knew would come. Her money was on Arthur. He seemed to be the most direct and out going of the three. To her surprise it was Albert who spoke up first. And his words weren't what she had expected at all.

He sat up straighter in his chair and said with sincerity: “It's an honor to meet you, ma'am. My father was in the 107th with your son. He always spoke with the highest regard of Sergeant Barnes. From what I have heard, he was one of the bravest.”

Winifred was speechless for a moment at such heartfelt words.

“Thank you. That's … that's very kind of you,” she managed to say at last and reached over to pat his arm.

She didn't know what else to say and was glad when Arthur spoke up: “I don't know about you, but I could do with a drink. That asshole senator will not ruin my day.”

“You're not allowed to drink, remember?” Philip remarked but he already got to his feet.

“Will you join us, Mrs Barnes?” he asked with a polite smile.

“Of course she will!” Arthur exclaimed. “We have to stand united, don't we? We old geezers. Against those assholes on TV who think they know what sacrifice and fighting means.”

“Really, Artie,” Albert said and shook his head. “Sometimes I wonder if the explosions and the heat in 'Nam didn't shook something lose in your head.”

Arthur laughed and slapped him on the shoulder while he pushed Albert's wheelchair.

Winifred's head was spinning a little as she walked with them over to the elevator, somehow included without agreeing in joining them. But she didn't mind. These men were an odd trio. Nothing like the other residents. She was intrigued by them and wanted to get to know them better.

And so, an hour later, Winifred found herself sitting on a comfortable couch in Phil's room, giggling like a school girl with a glass of strong whiskey from Arthur's – or Artie as she now called him – secret stock in her right hand.

 

 

Steve walked through the park in search of Winifred. He spotted her sitting on a bench under a group of ash trees. Sunglasses and a big straw hat shaded her face from the light. Steve couldn't help the grin spreading across his face.

When he was within earshot, he asked innocently: “Rough night?”

Winifred pushed her glasses down her nose and glared at him across the rim.

“You may be a grown man, Steve Rogers, but you are never too old to be put over my knee.”

Still smiling, he sat down beside her. “I didn't say anything.”

“Good.”

After a beat of silence, he said, barely able to hide his amusement: “So, what happened? Because I met some guys inside, who told me where to find you. They didn't say anything specific but, really, they looked a lot like you do and if I didn't know any better I would say you had one too many last night.”

That earned him a smack over the head.

“Sorry, sorry. I wont say another word,” he laughed and rubbed his head. “But you have to admit, it's kind of hilarious that you of all people got completely wasted last night.”

Steve pictured Bucky in his head, finding his mother with a hangover after a night out on the town with three guys. He would have laughed himself silly!

“I mean, you lectured Bucky for two hours straight after the bet with Jim O’Donnell where he drunk half a bottle of Gin in ten minutes.”

Winifred scoffed. “He was fifteen and vomited all over the rug,” she said, trying to sound mad, but Steve could hear the fondness in her voice.

“Yeah, you made him clean it up immediately and the whole kitchen, too. He never touched a drop of Gin after that. Got green in the face even thinking about it.”

Chuckling softly, Winifred patted his hand.

“If only he had extended that attitude to all other drinks, too. Wasn't the last time he got drunk that day, I'm sure.”

“True,” Steve agreed. “But the last time he let himself get caught by you. Although, I think Mr Barnes did catch him a couple of times.”

“If he did, he didn't tell me about it. He always said that he and Bucky needed to be a united front against us girls and he let him get away with far too much, if you ask me.”

While she said it, Winifred got a wistful look on her face and Steve let her reminisce for a while, thinking of George Barnes himself and picturing him before his eyes: Not very tall but built like an ox from all the work on the Docks, a belly that had gotten bigger and bigger over the years, making Steve think of a big teddy bear whenever he had seen him, a deep baritone voice that could make you feel warm and loved or tremble in terror either way. The latter hadn't happened very often as George Barnes had been a very cheerful and even-tempered man. Bucky had adored him!

Winifred's sigh brought him back to the present.

“It was very hard when he died and I still miss him, but I'm glad he isn't here anymore. He couldn't have taken it. To bury all of his children, to see them die before his eyes with nothing he could do about it – it would have destroyed him. Losing Bucky and Margie was bad enough for him and all his heart could take.”

Silence fell between them again, only disrupted by the slight whisper of the wind and the distant singing of a bird. Steve wanted to say something, to offer her some comfort, but didn't know what, didn't know how. He knew loss, but not the kind Winifred had suffered in her life.

“Anyway,” Winifred said with another sigh and smiled at Steve. “Enough with the sad wallowing. Any news to tell? Government secrets to share?”  
Steve couldn't help the laugh escaping him.

“No secrets, sorry. Maybe next time. For now, everyone is busy finding someone to blame for Manhattan. And with Loki on his way to an Asgardian Prison the Avengers are the next best thing.”

Winifred responded with an angry snort and beat her cane against the gravel path.

“Don't get me started! I saw the news yesterday. Unbelievable!”

Steve shrugged. There wasn't much he could say. Was he mad at the people for blaming them? Of course. Did he want to punch the senator in the face? Very much so. Was there anything he could do? Not really.

“The ones blaming the Avengers are a small group of people, who happen to be the loudest. We saved many lives that day and that's what counts. People will see that, eventually. And if not, what does it matter what people think, right? I know what I did, that's enough.” His voice didn't sound as sure as he would have liked and the sympathetic smile Winifred gave him, told him she was on to him. Thankfully, she didn't ask further about the insecurities Steve tried to bury deep within him. (Had he done enough? Could he have saved more? Where they to blame for what happened? If they had stopped Loki before he tore a hole into the sky …)

Before he could change the subject, Winifred said: “I heard Tony Stark is renaming his tower: Avengers Tower.”

“Yeah, he mentioned something like that,” Steve answered her while thinking back to Tony's ramblings about the topic during the shawarma date (Tony's words, not his). He had tuned out after some time, unable to follow any of Tony's science speak.

“Will take some time though. Not that I know anything about construction, but it looked pretty bad after the battle. At least, it will keep Tony occupied. If he is anything like Howard in that regard, he always needs a project to tinker around with.”

Winifred snorted. “Judging on what I remember from the newspapers about Howard Stark's … exploits and what I have read about his son in the last years, they are very much alike. When it comes to women and parties, anyway.”

On the surface, it sure looked that way: Howard had been notorious for his affairs and his parties and Tony seemed to be the same way. That being said, Steve felt there were some very fundamental differences between Howard and his son. (Not to mention the difficult relationship Tony apparently had had with his father. Steve had to admit, he was curious what exactly the problem between the two had been.)

“I didn't like him at first, but Tony is a good guy.”

Winifred looked at him before she asked softly: “Maybe even a friend?”

It took a while for Steve to answer her. Could he be friends with Tony? And the rest of them? They were all so very different from him and each one with there own baggage to carry.

At last, he said: “Maybe. I don't know. I have to get to know him and the others better first.”

“Well, you have plenty of time for that. Or don't they live in New York?”

“I don't know. Wouldn't matter anyway, because …” Steve stopped and stared at the ground. He didn't know how to tell her. Feeling Winifred's questioning stare on him, he took a deep breath before looking up again and said: “Fury asked me to move to DC. To work at SHIELD Headquarters. And I think, it'll be good for me if I go.”

“Oh.” Winifred looked a bit crestfallen, so Steve hurriedly added: “I will still be visiting you, of course. As much as I can. It's just that … maybe it's a chance for me to …”

“To make a fresh start,” Winifred smiled and took his hand. “Don't worry about me, Steve. I think, it's a great idea. It's high time for you to look forward and make a new life for you. I'm happy for you. Truly.”  
A huge weight was lifted from Steve at her words. He hadn't really thought she would be mad or disappointed but had still feared her reaction.

“Thank you. And I will visit. I promise.”

“I'll hold you to it.”

 

And so, a couple of days later, Steve arrived in Washington DC.

It took some time to get used to the city, but in the end his routine didn't really change: he worked for SHIELD, went on his runs, talked with Winifred over the phone.

He went back to New York several times to visit her, met up with the other Avengers, who gradually became his friends. Even Tony. It wasn't perfect and neither the life he had envisioned growing up nor the one he had wanted. It was what he got and he got used to it, even started to enjoy it.

After the shock of waking up in the future, trying to find his footing in a world so different from his own, he finally felt like he had found his place. He still had his moments of insecurity, times when he felt lost again, but all in all, life was good.

 

 

 

Pierce shook Fury's hand before he turned around and walked back into his office.

Closing the door firmly behind him, he went over to his desk and pressed the button on the intercom.

“Brenda? Get Sitwell on the line. ASAP.”

“Yes, sir,” came the voice of his secretary.

His phone rang a couple of minutes later.

Pierce picked up after the third ring and, not wasting any time with small talk, commanded: “Jasper, call the Gates and tell them to sent him over, status 1-6. I want him here at 1600.”

“Yes, sir, immediately,” came the rapid reply. “Anything else?”

Pierce hesitated for the blink of a moment before he made his decision and said: “Yes. Contact Agent Baker, concerning PI-M:2.23. Time to end it.”

“Yes, sir.”

The connection broke up and Pierce leaned back in his chair, satisfied in the knowledge that he had everything under control.

 

 

Thousands of miles away, at the border of the Gates-of-Arctic national park in Alaska, near Anaktuvuk Pass, a young man huddled closer to the the heater in the small laboratory.

When a second man, older than him and clearly his superior, entered, he said: “It's fucking freezing in here. I took this job to get out of the damn cold and now this.”

“You took this job, because there was no other other option for you,” his colleague replied.

Just as he sat down beside him, a whirring sound and a ping from the computer in the corner made them look up.

“What now?” groaned the first man. “I swear, if I have to go out again to look for …”

“You will do as you are told,” snapped the second man as he walked over to the desk. His eyes scanned the message and he couldn't help the raise of his eyebrows.

He read it a second time before he said: “Go and get the engines started.”

“What? Why?”

“Because I say so. Now go.”

He watched the younger man go, then made his way to the storage hanger. He had no idea why the heads in Washington wanted him. Since he had started working here several years ago nothing like this had ever happened and now all of a sudden they were to wake him and sent him all the way to the Capitol. Well, orders were orders and it really didn't make a difference to him if he had to watch over a frozen man in cryostasis or not. There were plenty of other things to do for him.

 

 

The first shreds of awareness flittered through his brain. Cold. So cold. His eyelashes were covered in frost and his breath felt like tiny shards of glass piercing his lungs.

Feeling came back to his limbs like waves washing up on the shores, coming and going until his frozen body gradually started to warm up.

Bending his fingers hurt and sent sharp impulses of pain to his brain.

He blinked the last remains of sleep away, the ice on his lashes melting away and rolling down his face like tears.

He pressed his hands against the hard surface underneath him and pushed himself up.

His body screamed in agony at the sudden command of movement to the muscles after years of frozen immobilization.

His head spun at the change of position and for a moment black spots filled his vision, clashing with the vast whiteness – the nothing – that filled his mind and wouldn't go away, no matter what he did.

He took a few tentative steps forward before he stopped and waited for his orders.

The Winter Soldier had awoken.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope, you liked it.  
> Let me know what you think! :)


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